


The Subtle Electric Fire

by fleurdeliser, tuesdaysgone



Series: amnesiaverse [2]
Category: Comics RPF, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Fencing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 02:13:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurdeliser/pseuds/fleurdeliser, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaysgone/pseuds/tuesdaysgone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard inherits his fortune and his title - and the responsibilities that come with them. Responsibilities that take the Ways to America, leaving Frank and Grant to deal with the emptiness in their home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Subtle Electric Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of love to [tabulaxrasa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tabulaxrasa/) for her beta skills.

Frank stands off to the side and watches Gerard greet his guests. He is beaming and happy and Frank feels quite smug about it all. Between him, Mikey, and Grant, they had been able to surprise Gerard with many of his good friends for his birthday party. 

Pleasure in Gerard's happy occasion aside, Frank is determined to keep to the perimeters of the room for this party. A few of Gerard's friends are aware of Frank's true status, of course, but not all. Plus, Gerard has now come into full possession of his fortune and ever since, well-meaning friends cannot stay away from the topic of marriage. It rankles.

"Only three hours left to go," Mikey murmurs in his ear. 

Frank laughs and then frowns. "Do I look that miserable?" 

"Only to someone who knows you well," Mikey says. He may be fibbing. Frank is not known for his ability to dissemble. He must find some way of distracting himself. For Gerard's sake, if nothing else. If he sees Frank is not enjoying himself, he will feel awful and he does not deserve that during his birthday party. 

He moves further away from the main throng of people and looks around the room. He spies Grant sitting in a chair across the room almost looking unassuming. That is quite a feat for the charismatic Lord Morrison. It strikes Frank that Grant is playacting as well, portraying the dutiful, fatherly guardian. It is an ill-fitting role for him, and Frank feels a rush of kinship. Then he takes another look.

The look he is giving Gerard is appropriately fond only if one does not look for very long. Frank is studying him carefully and what he sees is heat and longing and so much love Frank has to bite the inside of his cheek. Frank makes an abrupt detour from the wall to grab a glass of champagne from a nearby buffet table. He drains it in one go and, thus fortified, circles around the room to keep watching Grant. 

Grant, whose eyes - except when someone approaches him to engage in conversation - never leave Gerard. He must think no one is watching him, or he would certainly never allow such a thing to show. After some thought, Frank realizes that he is not at all surprised by this, not really. But he has never allowed it to rise to the forefront of his mind, and he is not sure how he feels about it. He is not sure even how he _should_ feel about it. 

Jealousy, he thinks, would be meaningless. It would mean he didn't trust Gerard. Or Grant, when he has every reason for trust - and gratitude, especially the latter for Grant - for them both. 

Frank moves his eyes back to Gerard. He is clearly enjoying himself, laughing and chatting with his friends happily. Periodically he looks around the room, taking everything in, seeking out his inner circle. After a while his eyes fix on a single point, a familiar expression on his face. But it is not directed at Frank, who he still hasn't spotted. Frank knows without bothering to follow his gaze that he is looking at Grant. That is even less surprising than Grant's apparent feelings. If he is honest, he has suspected this for many months now. 

And then Gerard's gaze turns to him and his expression does not change a bit. Despite all the revelations of the last ten minutes, that look still makes him catch his breath. He cannot help but beam back. They have had a lazy winter, snugged up here in the country with only Grant and Mikey to split their attention from each other. The previous year was hectic, as Mikey and Frank finished their schooling, only coming home on weekends. The past seven months, they've been wrapped up in each other. Perhaps that is why Frank isn't more unsettled, or surprised, by his companions' apparent feelings about one another. 

Toward the end of the evening, Frank makes his way over to sit next to Grant on the settee. "A successful party, don't you think?" 

"He's happy," Grant answers simply. 

"As happy as I can make him," Frank replies. 

"That's all I could wish," Grant says with a smile. He sounds almost painfully sincere. 

"I will be glad when they're all gone," Frank offers. "And it is just the four of us once more." 

Grant smiles and leans in close, "As will I, all told. It has been grand having people in the house again and hosting parties, but I confess I enjoy their departure just as much as the arrival." 

"Yes," Frank agrees. "That sums it up nicely." 

Soon, all their guests are departing and the servants are closing the doors behind the last person. Frank finds himself back on the settee with Gerard draped over him, Grant and Mikey in chairs facing them. 

"Thank you for the party," Gerard murmurs. 

"It was our pleasure," Grant replies and Frank and Mikey nod. It really was. And now things will return to normal. 

*

Normal does not last long. 

In mid-May, Gerard receives a letter from an uncle in America. He is their father's younger brother, marrying late in life, and Gerard as the nominal head of the family really must be there. In America. In a month's time. Frank's stomach sinks like a stone. Gerard's mouth is tight as he makes preparations. He books passage on a steamer for himself and Mikey for one week out and Frank goes for a long ride that afternoon. He might have known the pleasant bubble he's been living in would burst somehow. 

Gerard is waiting for him in the stable when he returns. "Frank," he murmurs, holding Frank's stirrup as he dismounts. "I will miss you so." 

"I do not have words for how much I will miss you," Frank says quietly and steps into Gerard's arms. 

"Show me," Gerard urges. 

"Gerard," he whispers and rubs his face against Gerard's chest. "Not here. In the house." 

They do not walk to the house hand in hand, but it is close. They sneak in through a little-used door and go straight upstairs to their--Gerard's-- bedroom. Gerard tugs Frank through the door, then locks it behind them. His hands are everywhere, working Frank's buttons open between kisses. Frank makes a desperate noise and tugs off his jacket and waistcoat. 

Gerard's lips find his neck and Frank moans. They know each others' bodies now. Gerard knows his sensitive spots, just like Frank knows to twist his fingers through Gerard's hair and tug. Gerard moans into Frank’s mouth and then pulls back. Frank reaches out to pull him back, but Gerard does not let him. Instead, he scrabbles desperately at his own buttons and clothes.

Frank gets his shoes off and pushes his trousers down. He sits on the bed and watches Gerard finish undressing. Gerard moves toward him and Frank moves up the bed, making Gerard come after him. Gerard laughs and pins him against the duvet. "Oh no, that will never do," Gerard coos. "You are mine." 

"Of course I am," Frank breathes. "I have been since I woke up that first time and you were sweet to me." He lifts his head up and presses his lips against Gerard's. 

"You are less of a mystery now, but every bit as appealing," Gerard tells him, finishing with a kiss. One kiss turns into several, turns into the kind of embrace that leaves Frank feeling light-headed and aroused. 

"Please, Gerard," he murmurs. Gerard smiles against his lips and kisses his way down Frank's neck, his chest, before nudging his legs apart and settling between them. 

"What would you have today, Frankie? Tell me. My mouth, my hands? More?" 

"Everything," Frank replies. 

"Then I shall give you everything I can." Gerard smiles up at him and wraps a hand around the base of his cock. He leans down and takes the head in his mouth. Gerard is amazingly good at this. Frank can barely contain his reaction, or his mouth.

"Gerard. So good. You always feel so good," he gasps. Gerard sucks the head of his cock and slides his fingers down the crease of Frank's thigh. "Don't tease, Gerard," he moans. "I cannot bear it, not now, not today. Want you inside me." 

Gerard pulls off his cock and leans his head on Frank's thigh. "As you wish," he whispers and lifts up to reach for the cream on the night table. Frank just tips his head back and waits for Gerard's touch. He's feeling overwhelmed already. Gerard repeats his earlier actions, traces down the inner crease of Frank's thighs. He's slow and gentle, but that doesn't stop Frank's moan when his fingertips brush Frank's entrance. Gerard's fingers push gently inside one by one, slow thrusts meant to madden Frank's senses. He can only breathe and touch Gerard's shoulders and head. 

When Gerard kisses his way back up Frank's torso and presses inside him, Frank moans loudly. He's grateful for the thick walls and the tapestries to muffle them, because he couldn't possibly stay quiet. It is certainly not a secret from Mikey or Grant that they share a bed, but Frank is newly self-conscious at the thought of being overheard - especially by Grant. All thoughts but Gerard leave him when Gerard starts moving his hips. When Gerard wraps a hand around his cock again, Frank presses himself up into Gerard's hand. 

"Gerard, love," he whispers. Gerard's mouth is everywhere, tracing Frank's neck and collarbones and chest, leaving pure sensation in its wake. Gerard murmurs words of love and praise and admiration to him. Frank cannot find any more words than Gerard's name or the odd curse. It is too much and he wants more. "Harder please," he murmurs. "Need every inch of you." 

"Whatever you desire," Gerard says and starts moving faster, harder. Frank wraps his legs around Gerard's waist and grips him tight. Frank can do nothing, then, but hold on, while Gerard drives him higher, finally spilling inside him at nearly the same moment his release takes Frank. He continues to hold Gerard firmly against him. 

"America is awfully far," he whispers. 

"Terribly far," Gerard agrees solemnly. "But I must go." 

"I know," Frank sighs and buries his face in Gerard's neck. He cannot think about that now. It can wait until at least morning. 

"Shall we dress?" Gerard whispers, stroking his fingers through Frank's hair. "Go and dine with Grant and Mikey?" 

"Yes, of course," Frank murmurs. He wants to refuse. To keep Gerard to himself here in their quiet bedroom. He can tell from Gerard's face that he knows it, too. But he puts on clean clothing and offers Gerard a tentative smile, and thinks longingly of the liquor cabinet in Grant's study. 

He wonders what Grant thinks of this. He'd encouraged Gerard to go, to fulfill his duties, but Frank suspects those were the last words he'd wanted to say. And it does not even strike him until he's seated next to Mikey at the dinner table how much he'll miss Mikey, too. Mikey, who has been as like a brother to him as Frank could ever hope to have. It will just be him and Grant rattling around this huge house. 

*

Frank feels tentative for days, endless time in bed broken up only by hard rides and attempts to help Gerard pack. Then a second letter arrives for Gerard, and Frank's chest clenches with hope that it might be a reversal of the summons. Instead, Gerard gets upset and closed-off. He resists all Frank's attempts to draw him out. 

"It is the duty of friends and confidants to share in each others' cares, is it not?" he asks tentatively at dinner that night. 

"Tell us, Gerard," Grant encourages. "Perhaps between us, we might offer advice." 

"No," Gerard says simply. "I fear not." 

"Then perhaps we can share the burden," Frank says softly. Gerard breathes out heavily through his nose. 

"My uncle writes that his niece is as yet unmarried and in danger of losing her position, as there is no other heir and decidedly no fortune." 

"His wife-to-be's kin, I presume?" Grant asks. Gerard nods. 

"Apparently there are... unsuitable claimants on the male line. He hinted strongly that as I am unmarried and have indicated I have no prospects, it would be a suitable match." Gerard does not look at Frank. 

"You have always sworn to me that you will not wed," Grant points out. "You are, of course, fully in control of your own fortune now. But I would urge you to think wisely about your choices." 

"I know," Gerard murmurs. "I haven't thought of anything else since I received the letter. I don't know how to... what to... I don't know." 

Frank's dinner has soured in his mouth. "You will please excuse me," he says abruptly. He cannot listen to this. He goes into their... Gerard's bedroom and gathers his things without thinking anything at all. 

He takes them back down to his little-used bedroom and sits on the bed. Weak, his mother's husband would call him. A sniveling little girl. Not a man. But he cannot help the tears that spring to his eyes as he stares unseeing at the sullen coals on his hearth. He does not know what to do. With Gerard gone, he's not even certain of his place in Grant's home. He swallows hard and curls up on the bed. 

Gerard does not come to him that night, and the region of his heart congeals into one icy misshapen lump. He starts to think about packing. It is the only thing he can do, other than wait. 

The next day, he goes out for a ride. He cannot stay in his room and he cannot go anywhere else in the house, so he goes to the barn and has the groom saddle his usual horse and he rides. He goes hard and fast and does not stop until the horse starts sweating. He stops and ties the reins around a tree and lies on the ground. 

He does not know how long he's there. At some point, he hears the sound of another horse coming toward him. He expects Gerard, or perhaps Mikey. He's surprised when he sits up and sees Grant. He scrambles to his feet, facing down the man on horseback with his hands on his hips. 

"Will you send me away, then?" he asks belligerently. 

"You make many assumptions," Grant answers softly, dismounting and tossing his reins over a tree branch. 

"Perhaps I do, but I don't know what else I should think," he says. 

"First, you're assuming that Gerard will not do everything in his power to find another solution. And you are certainly making assumptions about what I will do. Frank, my home is your home for as long as you need it," Grant says. 

"Thank you," Frank mumbles awkwardly. "But I don't know how I could stay, to wait for - wait for -" Frank knows not. Truly this is folly. 

"Come home with me," Grant says gently. "Tea will be waiting on us, and it looks like rain." 

He takes a deep breath. "I may as well." 

"I know there's nothing I can say to make this situation much better, but don't borrow more trouble than there already is," Grant says gently. 

Trouble finds him in the end, a night and a day later, when Gerard meets him in the dimness of Grant's portrait hall and tells him, with shaking voice and bloodless cheeks, that he is leaving. 

"Have a safe journey," Frank says as steadily as he can manage. 

"Frank, I cannot... I cannot make you any promises. And I'm afraid I must break the promises I've already made. All I can do is promise that I will try my best to come back to you," he whispers. 

"No, Gerard, don't," Frank begs. "I will wait." 

"Not on my account," Gerard says grimly. 

"I will wait," Frank says firmly. "Unless I get word that you've married that girl, I will wait." 

"So be it," Gerard answers. He makes no move to offer anything more in exchange, no sweet words, no embrace. Frank sets his jaw and breathes.

"I wish you a good journey. Write when you can." 

"I will," Gerard answers. 

Frank wants to reach out. To touch Gerard, to embrace him, to kiss him until they cannot breathe. He lets himself reach out and squeeze his hand and forces himself to turn and go back to his room. He does not look back. 

Mikey comes to his room to say goodbye. He says nothing, but Frank knows he's aware of what has transpired. He lets himself hug Mikey. They cling to each other for several minutes. 

"I will miss you, Mikey Way." 

"As will I, brother," Mikey murmurs. "I am sorry..." 

"No, do not apologize for him. He knows his own mind. I can do no more than hope -" Frank stops and just wraps his arms tighter. "Travel safely." 

Mikey finally pulls back. Frank follows him down and the entire household is there to see Gerard and Mikey off. It is all very solemn and not at all helping Frank's ability to maintain his composure. He does, though. 

When the carriage has carried them down the drive, Grant finally looks over at him. "Would you take tea with me, Frank?" he asks as the servants file back inside. 

Frank does not want to take tea with Grant. Frank wants to hide in his room. Frank wants to hide in Gerard's room, which doubtlessly still smells of him, that curious combination of old books and ink and... Gerard himself. He hesitates longer than he should and Grant reaches out to lay a hand on his arm. "You needn't if you don't wish to. Only should you want distracting." 

"More fool you if you think anything could," Frank says. He's too upset to remember his courtesies, or care. Grant merely squeezes his arm. 

"If you should like to let me try at any point, please feel free to find me." Frank just shakes his head and walks away. 

*

He barely leaves his room for several days. He realizes he's being dramatic, but he cannot bring himself to face anyone aside from the footman who brings him his meals. It finally strikes him, after several days, that Grant might be lonely as well. He forces himself to dress properly and go down to breakfast the next day. 

The smile Grant favors him with when he enters the dining room is half relieved, half clearly happy to see Frank. There's an awkward moment when he realizes his usual seat is strangely far down the table from Grant. He squares his shoulders and takes Gerard's usual seat. 

"I hope you slept well, Frank," Grant says politely. "The day looks to be fine. I imagine you'll wish to ride." 

"I was considering it. Would you care to join me?" Frank asks. 

"Yes, of course. I've quite missed your company." 

"I'm bad company," Frank says darkly. 

"Even so," Grant replies, sipping his coffee. 

"Shall we ride after breakfast, or would you like to wait until later?" Frank asks. 

"After breakfast would suit," Grant replies. They are being so polite. Too polite. Frank does not know how to act in a house that's just Grant and himself. "You are always welcome to use any room in the house should you find use for it," Grant says. "There are many nooks and crannies that I forget exist myself." 

"Perhaps I'll do a survey, in case you ever don't turn up for tea," Frank says smartly. Grant smiles at him. 

"You should. There will be many rainy days in the coming months." 

Frank's smile wavers. It has only been a few days. The ocean crossing may take two weeks, or more, and that many days again for a letter to reach them. 

"Should you wish it, there are several activities we could do together inside," Grant says.

"Not backgammon," Frank interjects. 

"You are quite the sore loser," Grant says with a minute smile. "Though I admit your losing streak is unequalled among the habitual inhabitants of my game room." 

Frank scowls. It feels good to not really mean it. "What sorts of things, if not games?" 

"A fencing hall in the east wing, for one," Grant says. 

"I do not know how," Frank says. 

"A perfect opportunity to learn," Grant says, unruffled. 

The more Frank thinks about it, the more he likes the idea. "You'd teach me?" he asks. 

"Of course. And welcome the exercise of my own skills, rusty though they may be." 

"I'd like that. The next rainy afternoon?" Frank asks. 

"Absolutely," Grant agrees. "You're a quick study at so many things, you will likely trounce me within a few rounds." Frank hides a smile and continues clearing his plate. They go for their ride later that morning, and it does indeed stir Frank's blood and clear his head, but only for a time. 

Evenings are the worst. He misses Gerard touching him, not merely to give him pleasure; he misses the touches to his arm, the long embraces on various settees. He even misses the nudges from Mikey's fingers against his. Grant and the servants alike tend to stumble across him when he's gotten particularly low, so he takes to curling himself, a coverlet, and a book into one of the hidden spots he so enjoyed with Gerard. Which is its own form of torture at times, but at least he's alone for it. 

He makes an effort to attend every meal and go on rides with Grant. And the first rainy afternoon, he appears at the door of Grant's study. 

"Frank," Grant says, looking up from his desk, "I was about to call for you." 

"It is raining," Frank says, "so I thought -" 

"A letter came," Grant says. 

"Oh," Frank replies quietly and sits. "What..." he pauses to clear his throat. "What does it say?" 

"You may read it, of course," Grant says and hands it over. 

_My dear Grant,_ Gerard writes, _We have indeed arrived in New York after a tedious but thankfully uneventful voyage. Our uncle was on hand to greet us and arrange the transport of ourselves and our rather copious amounts of luggage. I do believe he considered the amount of trunks excessive, but Mikey and I both feel rather cheered by the presence of familiar things._

_Would that it were that your face, and Frank's, were among them. Our family are but strangers, though I admit they are well-meaning ones. Our comfort has been assured by their kind arrangements and it merely remains to be seen what services we can render to repay such kindnesses._

_Of the other matter, there is no news._

_Thinking of you often, as is Mikey._

_Yours, etc,_

_Gerard_

There is no more to it, nor is there an enclosure for Frank himself. Frank tries to keep his face neutral, but he's certain he fails. "I will write back straight away, of course," Grant says. "Would you like to enclose a message?" 

"I think I'd like to learn to fence now," Frank says as he hands back the letter. 

"Very well, Frank. If you'd like." 

Frank narrows his eyes. Grant's face is completely neutral. He resents that. Grant leads him down the halls toward the east wing and Frank plays close attention as Grant explains the general rules of fencing and instructs him on how to use his foil. He will not deny he's impatient to actually start fencing. 

Fencing, it transpires, is not easy. Grant insists he walks through the forms over and over until Frank is both sweating and gritting his teeth in frustration. "Let's have a match," Grant finally says and Frank sighs in relief. 

Grant proceeds to trounce him beyond recovery. It is pathetic, really. But Frank is finally enjoying himself. 

It becomes a habit of theirs, to meet on cold and rainy days, or at least several times a week. They ride, too, when it is fine, and talk of everything under the sun - except for their lack of another letter. They're in the middle of a match one day when Grant stops them. 

"Come here. You are consistently moving your arm incorrectly." 

"I am doing exactly what you told me to," Frank retorts. 

"If that was true, your arm would be correct and it most certainly is not," Grant sighs. "Hold still." He takes hold of Frank's elbow and moves it just slightly up. "Stay like that." He moves back around and lifts his foil. "Now make the same motion. You'll be far more successful." And damn him if he isn't right. Grant still skewers him right in the breast with his foil - or would have if the blades weren't padded - twice more before they call it a day. 

Another letter is delivered that afternoon. Frank sinks into the same chair in Grant's study and waits for Grant to open the letter. He both very much wants to hear the news from America and also very much does not. 

Grant reads this one aloud. It is a rather colorfully written account of their uncle's wedding, featuring a number of asides from Mikey, and Frank's lips twitch numerous times, until the first passing mention of a young lady named Victoria. He swallows hard and digs his fingernails into the arm of the chair. 

"'She is very lovely. It is not a hardship to escort her to various parties,'" Grant reads. 

"Not a hardship," Frank grumbles. He does not want to interrupt, but he cannot keep it inside. 

"Perhaps he is merely surprised he likes her company at all, Frank," Grant suggests. 

"Keep reading," Frank grits out. Grant eyes him without comment and continues. 

"'I am uncertain when we shall be able to return. I am seeing to family business and various concerns here in America for at least the next few weeks. I assume that you will inform Frank of our continued well-being. Mikey wishes me to pass along how much he misses you both, as well.'" 

Frank has to turn his face away and close his eyes for a moment. 

"Frank," Grant says quietly. Frank pushes himself to his feet. 

"I love him," he growls, "And I get no more than passing mention?" 

Grant's face does not change, though it appears to take an act of will. "Do not forget that our way of life is not accepted by all and letters from America pass through many hands," Grant says. His voice is steady and neutral and Frank hates it. 

"Or he's decided his way of life is to marry his fucking American cousin," Frank snaps. Grant shrugs. "I hate you," Frank tells him, spinning on his heel and walking out. 

A small part of him wants Grant to follow him. He's not sure what he'd do even if Grant did. Shout at him some more, probably. Frank's temper lies too close to the surface. 

He goes out to the barn. There's still enough light for a ride. He cannot think of anything else to do. It is well after dark when he finally re-enters the house, after having personally brushed and bedded down his lovely little mare. The house is dark as well and Stewart has a terse little message that Grant took his evening meal in his study and retired. Frank is not particularly hungry, so he dismisses Stewart and goes to his room. Which still reminds him of Gerard, reminds him of being ill and not remembering. Of Grant reading to him from his bedside. Frank sighs. The fact is, he doesn't hate Grant at all. It is simply that Grant is here. 

The footman who comes to bank the fire in the morning - the cold bothers Frank most in the mornings, and the staff is diligent over Frank's health - delivers a folded scrap of paper. _East hall, our usual time,_ it reads. 

Frank breathes out, oddly relieved. He'll apologize. Grant took him in and has been incredibly kind to him and he does not deserve the way Frank is treating him at all. It is Gerard who is the real cause of his anger. Why only two letters in all these weeks? Even accounting for the sea travel... And insisting on treating Frank like... like they hadn't shared bodies and beds for all this time. And he's afraid. He's so afraid that if Gerard returns, it will be with a wife. Frank never bothered to imagine a life without Gerard in it. 

The breakfast room is deserted, and Frank serves himself from the sideboard and eats in silence. When he finally makes his way to the east wing, he finds Grant sitting in a chair, fencing gear on, foil laid across his lap. 

"Sit down, Frank," Grant invites. 

"I'm sorry," Frank blurts. Grant runs a hand over his head. 

"I understand both of you, you know. I understand the pressure to make your family proud, to live a normal life." 

"You never did," Frank retorts. 

"But I did, in many ways you do not know," Grant replies. "And I understand the frustration, the terror even, of watching someone you love move beyond your reach because you have no claim to them." 

"Isn't loving them a claim?" Frank whispers.

"If it were, then I'd have laid claim to him long ago," Grant replies. It is blunt and startlingly honest and Frank doesn't know what to say. "Don't tell me you didn't know," Grant continues. "If we are to continue on in this house together, I'd prefer neither of us acts the child." 

Frank feels his face flush. His behavior has been astonishingly childish. "I did know," Frank says quietly. 

"And I am quite certain Gerard does not," Grant continues. "But it matters not. As I said, I know what it is to do your duty, to live the expected life despite your own desires." 

"I'm sorry," Frank repeats. "I never... I don't know what to do. Without him." 

"You are of age and may do as you like," Grant says. "If you wish to go to Town as you and Mikey meant to, you may go. My townhouse is at your disposal, and perhaps my company as well. But for now, I suggest we continue our fencing lessons." 

Frank nods. "I have been enjoying them greatly." He stands and dons his own gear. He lifts his foil. It feels pleasant and solid in his hand and he suddenly realizes how much he's been enjoying fencing with Grant. He's simply enjoying Grant. The combination of calm instruction and quick wit. The sly taunts when Frank lets down his guard. It distracts him sufficiently from his cares for a time. 

"Let's begin," Grant murmurs. 

*

The conversation has changed something between them. Grant pushes him harder now. They spend more hours of the day attacking and parrying and panting in the fencing halls. It is interesting to Frank how much Grant had been holding back before. He no longer does. "Your arm is dropping again. Your form is terrible," Grant snaps after one particularly contentious bout. 

"But effective," Frank retorts. 

"What is better, lucky or correct?" Grant asks him, tossing his foil aside and stalking over. 

"That depends upon what I'm doing," Frank retorts. "What some consider correct is not always most effective." 

"You're still learning," Grant tells him, laying hands on him and adjusting his stance. Frank is rather surprised when his face grows hot. He takes a deep breath and Grant starts murmuring in his ear. "Close your eyes. Concentrate on your stance, on the position of your arm. It will be easier, without your eyes to distract you." Frank's not certain his eyes will be the thing distracting him, but he does as instructed. "Now attack. Just the air for now. Keep your eyes closed and concentrate on form." 

The first try is clumsy, and Grant huffs and steps closer. "Keep your hips in line with your shoulders," Grant instructs, hands closing around Frank's hips. "Again." 

Frank bites his lip and tries desperately to think of anything more than the ten points of heat and pressure on his hips. He breathes and thrusts the foil forward again. It has been months since he's been touched by anyone. But that's not quite true. Grant touched his elbow during a session a fortnight ago. Odd that he even remembers, but that didn't burn like this. Frank takes another deep breath and makes the attack motion again. 

"Much better," Grant murmurs. "Again. Now open your eyes," he urges after a while. "Focus on me." He steps back and retrieves his foil. "Repeat what you did just now. Maintain your position and stance." 

He allows Frank to attack him, only parrying at the last second. "Better than before. Again." 

It feels better than before, which Frank does not want to admit after the fuss he'd made. And it is frustrating to have to go back to basics, except for the little thrill he gets when Grant delivers a terse little morsel or two of praise. 

Grant is much more hands-on in his instruction thereafter. There are hands on elbows and shoulders, on his waist, sometimes even his calves. When Frank contemplates it, often while nursing his bruises by the fire at night, he thinks it is because it is the instruction Grant would give another adult, not merely humoring an upset child. That makes him a bit angry. The anger is followed abruptly by shame that he was acting the upset child. 

He starts a letter to Gerard that night, but scratches through the lines with thick black strokes after a mere paragraph or two. He shoves the paper into a pile of crinkled, blotched and sometimes torn pieces in the bottom drawer of his desk - the remnants of all his other attempts over the last weeks. He knows Grant sends the occasional brief note. Frank is not sure how he finds the words.

"How do you stand it?" he blurts out the next afternoon as they're cleaning their foils. 

"That's a bit vague, Frank," Grant says. "How do I stand what?" 

"Gerard. Knowing he... knowing he," Frank cannot even finish. _Chose me,_ a voice in his head whispers. Frank's not entirely sure that's what Gerard did, so he shoves that thought away. 

"Are we to talk about this at last?" Grant asks. 

"Were you waiting for me to bring it up?" Frank asks. 

"I thought it best," Grant murmurs. 

"Well?" Frank asks. 

"How do I stand it? I go on rides. I fence, I discuss books with you over scotch. I attempt not to dwell because doing so serves no purpose but to sadden me. I go to town, I entertain friends, and I conduct the occasional dalliance with a willing partner. Perhaps my feelings will fade in time. Perhaps they will not. I believe Gerard chose you, and I will respect that." 

Frank laughs bitterly. He cannot help it. "That assumes he realized there was a choice to be made. That he knew you were available to him. I don't know why you didn't speak long ago, but I don't believe he knew. He'd have to be daft to favor me, if he knew." 

"He wouldn't at all, Frank," Grant says gently. "You're close to his age, you're beautiful, you share many interests..." 

"And he loved you first," Frank replies. "Perhaps he finds it easier to... to marry that girl because I wasn't who he really wanted to start with." 

"We don't know what he means to do," Grant says. "The lack of another letter could be anything from a storm over the Atlantic to a robbed mail coach." 

The cracks in Grant's composure are only there because Frank knows to look for them, now. He wonders how and when he learned Grant's face so well. Frank squeezes Grant's wrist. "Perhaps. Hope of a better outcome becomes increasingly difficult. We are quite the pair, aren't we?" 

Grant reaches out and brushes an errant lock of hair out of Frank's face. "Perhaps we are. Can I offer you a taste of the new cask of scotch, my boy?" 

"I would like that," Frank replies. He's surprised when he has to stop himself from leaning into Grant's touch. A glass of scotch makes him forget that, though. He's just warm. A bit sleepy. Especially after dinner. "Grant," Frank asks, "I wanted to ask you...would you read to me, perhaps?" 

"There is little that would give me more pleasure," Grant replies. "Any requests?" 

"Poetry, I think. Anything you'd like. It is soothing." 

"As you wish," Grant responds and gets up to select a volume from the shelf. "I would read you my latest efforts, but those have been... melancholy of late." 

"At least you have words," Frank murmurs. "They are not one of my skills." 

"You underestimate yourself," Grant says and goes to his desk. He pulls a bound book from the drawer and hands it to Frank. "This is blank. Just let your thoughts flow from your pen." He laughs, clearly at Frank's expression. "It gets easier. Now, shall I read?" 

"Please," Frank murmurs and clutches the blank book to himself. 

Grant has chosen Blake. His voice is rich and strong, though quiet. Frank closes his eyes. He doesn't quite fall asleep, but he certainly has trouble keeping his eyes open. He forces himself to stay awake, though. He wants to hear Grant. 

"Are you asleep?" Grant asks after quite some time. 

"No," Frank murmurs, stretching without opening his eyes. "You have a soothing voice, indeed." 

"And you are soothed?" Grant asks quietly. 

"For a time, yes," Frank replies. 

"I am glad to hear it. Would you like me to keep going?" 

"If you like. 'Tis a shame I cannot sleep here," he mumbles, not really aware that he'd just told Grant he wished to be read to sleep. 

"I don't think anyone would raise any objections, except perhaps your neck," Grant replies softly and starts reading again. 

He reads until the fire burns low and his voice is hoarse, and Frank can just barely blink back sleep. Grant shuts the book and stands. Frank knows he should do the same, but he cannot seem to make himself move. Grant comes over and helps him gently to his feet. 

"How am I more tired than you?" Frank mumbles. "That's unfair." 

Grant chuckles warmly. "Perhaps I slept more soundly than you last night. I imagine you will not have any trouble at all tonight." He leads Frank out the door and up the stairs toward the sleeping quarters. 

"Perhaps we should repeat the experiment," Frank yawns, remembering the turnoff to his own bedchamber but fumbling the door knob. 

"I would enjoy that very much. Same time tomorrow, then?" Grant asks. 

"Yes," Frank replies. "See you at breakfast." He finally gets his door open and stumbles inside. He can barely get out of his clothing before tumbling into bed, and for once he does not feel all alone. Grant's just down the hall, likely performing the exact same motions. He slips into sleep quickly, the only thing in his mind is Grant's voice murmuring words that might be Blake's. 

It does in fact become a routine; they ride, fence, read to one another, because Grant insists Frank's voice share the load. They play cards and drink their way through Grant's scotch and even attend a party or two. Things don't get better, precisely. Frank still finds waiting for the post to be the most excruciating part of any day, but he feels like he and Grant are sharing the weight of it all. 

Then comes the day when they do receive another letter. It has been a full three months since Gerard and Mikey left. Frank cannot seem to decide if he's looking forward to or dreading Gerard's letter.

He does not ask Grant to read it aloud, this time. Grant reads it, then hands it over silently. All it says is that he and Mikey are in good health. He even speaks of the weather. Which is, apparently, unpleasant in the opposite manner of Scotland.

Frank looks up at Grant, then back down at the familiar scrawl. "This is not as much news as I'd have liked," 

"It says nothing of import," Grant says bluntly. 

"At least we know he's alive. As of three weeks ago," Frank says with a sigh.

"Better than nothing," Grant replies, taking the paper back and folding it away in a drawer.

"I suppose so," Frank murmurs. "Fencing? I'd rather ride at the moment, but it looks like rain." 

*

When Frank wakes with a tickle in his throat, he grits his teeth and takes his tea with lemon. He refuses to fall ill again. He refuses to fall ill several times each year, regardless of season. It never seems to do any good. He forces himself through the motions of the day. Even manages a fencing session with Grant. But by the time supper is over, he feels positively miserable. He can only hope that with sleep will come some improvement. 

But first, he needs to beg off an evening in Grant's study, or push himself through it. He chooses to push himself, which only ends up with him falling asleep in one of Grant's chairs and Grant shaking him awake with a quiet, "My God, Frank, you're feverish." He opens his mouth to speak and only manages to croak. "Why didn't you tell me you were ill?" Grant asks quietly. 

"Don't want to be," Frank whispers. Grant smooths Frank's hair back behind his ear. 

"Understandable, I suppose." He pulls Frank up off the settee with exceeding care. Frank whimpers. Every part of him is sore. "Should I send for a doctor?" Grant asks, voice full of concern. 

"No, it is not that bad yet. And Doctor Ellis always just scolds me."

Grant chuckles. "Not without reason most of the time. You'll tell me if it does get to that point?" 

"I promise. Just...don't leave me alone too much?" Frank begs. 

"I'll stay with you until you send me away," Grant promises, "But let's get you up to your room." 

Frank suddenly misses Gerard more than he has since that first week. Grant means well, and feels lovely, arms warm and tight around Frank's shoulders, but Gerard... Gerard would have crawled into bed with him and held him. 

Grant helps him up to his room and waits in Frank's small parlor as he gets his nightshirt on and gets in bed. Frank can barely raise his voice enough to call Grant inside. "Please," he says. 

"Shall I read?" Grant asks. 

"Yours," Frank mumbles, meaning _your own work._

Grant appears to understand him, though. He pulls a chair up to Frank's bedside and takes a small book from his breast pocket. He reaches out to lay a gentle hand on Frank's arm and opens the book. "I wrote these several months ago. I decided to revisit them today. See if there are any I like well enough for my next book." 

Frank turns on his side so he can watch Grant as he reads. "So I'll be the first to hear them?" he asks. Grant smiles and squeezes his arm. 

"You will indeed. Let me know if you like any in particular." 

"I don't know that my opinion will be worth much, especially in this state," Frank croaks. 

"Rest," Grant tells him. 

The poem he chooses to read is clearly about the estate, a meditation on winter and the life hiding underneath the snow. It is beautiful and sad, and so is Grant's face reading it, but Frank is too exhausted to keep his eyes open. He listens as long as he can, though. He's vaguely aware of a hand on his hair and a murmured goodnight and then he doesn't know anything until morning. 

He wakes up with his throat on fire, feeling even more feverish than the previous night. He whimpers in defeat, not expecting anything to come of it. But a rustling in the same chair proves to be Grant with a newspaper. 

Grant leans forward and rests a hand on Frank's forehead. He doesn't even try to stop himself from leaning into the touch. "I should send for Warren now, I think," he murmurs. 

"Yell," Frank manages. 

"He will not," Grant says. "I will not let him. Do you need water, love?" 

"Please," Frank whispers and forces himself to sit up. Grant quickly slides a pillow behind his back and holds out the glass to him. Frank is grateful he does not hold it to his lips. 

Grant rings for Stewart and sends off a summons for Doctor Ellis, then settles back down beside Frank. "Do you think you can eat anything? I can have the cook prepare anything that might suit," Grant says. "Broth, fruit juice?" 

Frank shrugs, indecisive. Grant rings the bell again and asks for both, as well as toast and tea. Frank takes a deep breath and starts coughing. He scowls and rubs his aching chest. 

"When the tray comes, I shall ask for a warm compress as well," Grant tells him. "My dear boy, you certainly know how to worry a body." 

"I'm sorry," Frank says when he catches his breath. "You should have known I'd be trouble from the start." 

"I did, at that," Grant says. "But perhaps I like trouble." 

"You must," Frank says as the maid wheels in a little cart with the breakfast tray on it. 

"I brought your breakfast up as well, Lord Morrison," she says. 

"Thank you, Bridget," he replies. "Would you fetch a warm compress as well? I'll serve Frank." 

Bridget leaves the room again and Grant sets the tray on Frank's lap. "Lemon for your tea?" he asks and the next few minutes are spent settling in to eat. 

He knows things will likely get worse before they get better, so Frank tries to consume as much as he can. He even swallows down a few bites of toast. He manages not to feel awkward about Grant serving him, either. When Bridget brings the compress, Grant helps Frank apply it properly and sits back to finish his own breakfast. Frank wishes Grant were sitting on the bed with him so he could lean against him. He doesn't want to lie down again, but he's not sure he has the strength to stay sitting up. 

"Shall I read you the paper?" Grant asks when he finishes his food. 

"I will likely fall asleep," Frank says. 

"If you'd rather not fall asleep, I can call for a few novels to be brought up. Though, I feel you _should_ sleep," Grant replies. 

"After Doctor Ellis leaves," Frank says. Grant calls for more books to be brought up from the study and settles in to read Frank _Le Comte de Monte-Cristo_ until Stewart ushers Doctor Ellis into the room. 

"Frank, once in a while I'd like to see you when your lungs are functioning properly," Doctor Ellis sighs. 

"Perhaps if you accepted invitations to our parties more often, you would," Grant says. "And you're not to scold him. He's been following your instructions to the letter." 

"So say you." Doctor Ellis examines Frank and then nods concisely. "Could be worse. You're clearly exercising. Willow bark tea, liquids, rest, mind the fever." 

"We've been fencing," Frank says. 

"That's good. Hopefully you've strengthened those lungs enough that they fight this easily," Doctor Ellis replies. "As ever, send for me if he worsens," he tells Grant. "I suppose you need no encouragement to watch him closely," says the doctor with a meaningful look. 

_No, I'm not Gerard_ , Frank thinks. 

"I never have," Grant responds. 

Frank frowns. _What?_

Grant just picks up the book he'd been reading and starts a few sentences before where they left off. 'Tis true, when he was ill before, Grant had checked up on him with some frequency. But... Frank is confused. He does not have much time to think because one of the servants brings up some willow bark tea and Frank's eyes start drooping from the warmth, from the pleasantness of Grant's voice. He dozes on and off for the rest of the day, waking for another meal late in the evening. Grant's still there, or there again, Frank knows not. 

"How are you feeling?" he asks when Frank finishes his broth. 

"Perhaps a little bit better? My chest doesn't feel quite so heavy. We shall have the true test in the morning." 

Grant leans in to touch his hand to Frank's forehead. "I believe we may have staved off the worst of the fever with the tea." 

"I hope so," Frank replies and turns a little bit into his hand. He will not be able to do that much longer if he's truly getting well. He cannot deny that he likes to have the excuse. Frank misses Gerard. Desperately. He never stopped. But he finds that Grant's embrace would be an acceptable substitute. He does not ask for it, though. However much he might wish for it. At least Grant indulges him a bit, petting through his hair once before sitting back. 

"One more chapter?" he asks quietly. 

"If you don't mind reading." 

"Not at all," Grant says and begins. Frank manages to stay awake through the entire chapter. When Grant moves to close the book, Frank shoots his hand out to grab Grant's wrist. 

"Thank you," he murmurs. 

"'Tis nothing," Grant says. "Only what you deserve." Frank shakes his head, but Grant shushes him before he can speak. "I know I'm a poor substitute, but I will give you what comfort I can." 

"Not - a -" Frank coughs miserably before he can finish the sentence. "Substitute. You're you." 

Grant turns his hand so he can take Frank's in his and squeeze. "Sleep, Frank. I'll return in the morning. Please ring for someone if you start feeling miserable again in the night and have them fetch me." 

Frank nods. He's already half asleep, and he wakes sweaty and achy but not noticeably worse. He turns his head to see Grant once again at his side, newspaper in hand. 

"Is it very late?" he asks. Well, croaks. 

"Not terribly," Grant says. "Are you missing an appointment?" he teases. 

Frank smiles. "No, just trying to get my bearings." 

"And how are you feeling?" Grant asks. 

"No worse than last night. Though not precisely better, either." 

"I'll take it as a good sign," Grant says. Frank nods. "Shall I ring for breakfast?"

"Yes, I think so, perhaps...porridge of some sort?" Frank requests. 

"And juice?" Grant smiles. "I am sure that's fine." Grant gives him the highlights of the newspaper as they wait for their food. He reaches out to press a hand against Frank's forehead and then insists he drink the willow bark tea first. "You're still feverish."

Frank grimaces, but drinks his tea before starting on the porridge. He manages about half the bowl before he starts feeling overwhelmingly tired again. "I don't want to sleep," he complains. 

"But you must," Grant says and rings for the servants to come get the trays. "I will stay here and we can continue our book when you wake again."

"You needn't stay," Frank murmurs. 

"But I shall." Frank holds in a sigh and lies back down. He falls asleep fast and does not wake again until mid-afternoon, feeling too hot and like the air alone is trying to stifle him. He kicks off the covers irritably, forgetting he's only wearing a nightshirt and not sure if Grant's in the room...somewhere. His chair is empty, but eventually Frank's searching eyes find him; he's moved to Frank's desk and is writing busily. Frank studies him for a moment. He's watched Grant write hundreds of times, but this time feels...he's not sure. Closer. More intimate. Like Frank is watching something private. Except not entirely private because he's here. He realizes he could watch expressions cross Grant's face for hours. He's uncomfortable enough with the thought that he coughs, murmurs Grant's name. 

Grant is at his side in an instant. "What do you need?" 

"Stuffy in here," he says. "That's all." 

"I'll open the door to the sitting room. It is cooler in there," he says. "It is raining, so opening a window would be foolish." 

"Can we go - just sit -" Frank runs a hand through his hair. Greasy, tangled. Grant studies him again, critically, touching his forehead as has been his wont since Frank fell ill. 

"Restless?" 

Frank nods. "Terribly." 

"That is likely a sign that you are on the mend," Grant says encouragingly. 

"Can you find my dressing gown?" Frank asks. "And help me?" 

"That I can," he replies and moves to get Frank's dressing gown from the hook inside the armoire and helps Frank stand. He's not as weak as he was expecting to be, but Grant keeps an arm around him as they walk into the little parlor. "Shall I fetch our novel?" Grant asks once Frank is settled on the chaise with a blanket draped over him. Frank thinks for a moment. 

"In my desk - the book you gave me - you may read it if you like. Not aloud." He shudders. 

"Frank," Grant murmurs. "Very little would give me more pleasure." 

He gets up and goes back into the bedroom and returns with the no longer blank book in his hand and settles down. Frank suddenly wishes he'd waited until he was falling asleep to do this. He casts about him and notices a book on the side table. When he picks it up it proves to be one of Gerard's, and Frank has already read it, but he focuses his eyes on a page for the first time in days and makes an effort. He glances at Grant often. Grant's face is the picture of concentration, sometimes his expressions shift and he smiles or looks pained. Frank has to look at the book in his lap when that happens. 

He's been scribbling his thoughts, verse, scraps of stories ever since Grant handed him the book. It is almost unbelievable to him that it had never occurred to him before. Grant has eyed his ink stained fingers with interest more than once. Perhaps he thought Frank was writing letters. The pile of mangled paper in the bottom drawer hasn't grown in weeks - it is all in the book instead, and it is the best way he knows to let Grant inside his jumbled head. That's suddenly very important to him, the longer Gerard is gone. 

When Grant is done, he clears his throat and Frank looks over at him. "I was correct when I said you were underestimating yourself. You have been underestimating yourself by a rather large amount." 

"Do not tease, Grant," Frank says sharply. 

"I would not do such a thing," Grant replies. "Your words are perhaps rough in places, but so are mine when I first write them down. Every page of this book is a treasure. No one in the world has your voice, or can tell your story," Grant continues. "Don't forget that." 

Frank feels overwhelmed. This is even more than he'd hoped for. He thought maybe Grant would like a couple of things, but mostly he'd let Grant read it because he wants Grant to _know_ him. 

"At least writing is a proper invalid pastime," Frank jokes. "Until Doctor Ellis permits me to return to normal activity." 

"I do miss our fencing," Grant replies. 

"Yes. And riding. Though, that I miss less when it is raining," Frank says and cuts his eyes to the window. He starts coughing again. It is as if his body is reminding him that it will be positively _forever_ until Doctor Ellis allows him his freedom again. 

"More tea," Grant says. "And then I shall leave for a time so you can rest." They have tea together and Frank eats a scone with clotted cream. He cannot quite taste it, but eating solid food feels good anyway. When they finish, Grant helps him back to bed and leaves quietly with a promise to return for supper. Frank falls asleep clutching his book to his chest. 

 

*

The next few days continue in much the same manner. With each successive day, Frank gets more and more restless. Finally Doctor Ellis returns. He laughs at his first sight of Frank's face. "Is it so difficult to be waited on hand and foot by an earl and his servants, my boy? Cheer yourself, I can already tell you're like to be recovered, with the strength of that glare." 

"You're about to tell me I'm free to move about the house, but I'm not to go riding or do anything strenuous like fencing," Frank retorts. "You deserve it." 

"You see the future, do you, boy? Remind me to consult you on my next turn at the card table." In his corner, Grant's shoulders are shaking a bit. Frank glares at him too for good measure. "Though, I regret to inform you that you are correct on this count. You may walk about the house to get your strength back. I will return in a week and we shall determine whether you can return to your other pursuits then," Doctor Ellis says. 

Frank sighs. He and Doctor Ellis perform this farce every time Frank falls ill. Much like the one that plays out between the doctor and Grant, it is familiar and without real rancor. Doctor Ellis departs with a "Do make sure he doesn't sneak out to ride," to Grant and a pat on Frank's arm. 

Grant leaves him soon after with a promise to send up hot water for a bath. Frank nearly moans at the idea. Forget riding or fencing, nothing in the world sounds better than a bath. Afterward, he feels nearly human again, and Grant smiles when he comes back ahead of the supper tray. "You look well." 

"Tomorrow I will come down for meals," Frank promises. 

"I truly haven't minded taking my meals here with you, Frank," Grant tells him. "I am glad you're feeling well enough to come down, but only for your sake, not mine. Perhaps we can take a few turns about the house in the afternoon." 

Frank smiles wide in pure relief - he can walk around, at least - and Grant returns it. 

"You should always smile," he murmurs. 

"I was about to say the same of you," Grant says. Frank is still staring at Grant's mouth and he feels something stir in his chest, his belly, is dismayed to put a name to it. 

Desire. 

Easy enough to ignore. He's young and he's been alone for a long time. Surely that's all it is. He's ashamed that he could forget Gerard - _who may have forgotten you first,_ a cruel voice whispers. He takes a breath and turns to his supper. At least if he's eating a hot meal, perhaps he can explain away the flush creeping up his cheeks. 

*

Frank is extremely happy when Doctor Ellis gives him leave to start riding and fencing again. He's sure he'll be awful at fencing until he is back to full strength, but just knowing he and Grant can meet in the east wing at their regular time does much to improve his mood. He crows a bit when it becomes apparent that Grant is out of form as well. Not that it matters; Grant's skill still far exceeds his own. But it is strangely satisfying that Grant's form is rusty because he's been sitting with Frank. They spar until Frank is gasping for breath and Grant calls for a halt. 

"Same time tomorrow?" Frank asks. 

"Of course," Grant replies. They spend the next several days building their stamina and muscles back to their previous levels before Grant starts with the intense instruction again. It feels even better this time, post-illness. And if Doctor Ellis thinks it is helping to strengthen his lungs, he will throw himself into it wholeheartedly. 

Frank thinks he takes Grant aback with his manic grin, but he's soon responding in kind. Fencing with Grant had been enjoyable enough before, but now Frank loves every moment. Even when Grant steps forward to correct his form. Especially then. Perhaps he should be ashamed. But it is as harmless as anything he can imagine. Then one day Grant stops them. 

"Keep your arms up exactly like that," he instructs and comes over to Frank. He steps around behind him, steps close, and runs his hand down Frank's arm, nudging him into the proper position as he goes and wrapping his fingers around Frank's wrist. 

"Like this," he murmurs in Frank's ear. 

Frank's breath catches in his throat. All he wants to do is lean. If he wasn't already breathing hard, if his cheeks weren't already flushed with exertion, he knows his breath would speed up and he'd go red in the face. Grant does not move, but continues murmuring in Frank's ear. He cannot focus on the words, though. 

"Frank?" Grant asks him. He's clearly waiting for a response. 

Frank clears his throat. "Explain again?" 

Grant does and Frank forces himself to concentrate on Grant's words and not the way Grant feels against his back. He excuses himself after they're done, stumbling aimlessly through the house, finally stopping in the portrait hall where he'd said goodbye to Gerard. 

"Damn him," he tells a stern Morrison ancestor. Frank is not sure which "him" he's talking about at this point. Probably both of them. He suddenly misses Gerard so much it is like an ache in his chest. 

He spends the evening writing in his book, late into the night, and oversleeps. When he finally comes downstairs the next morning, Grant isn't anywhere Frank expects him at that hour. He checks Grant's study last and finds Grant staring at his desk. He looks up and Frank sees that he looks... sad. Resigned. 

"What is it?" Frank asks. 

"We've had a letter from Gerard. He, ah, included a note for you," Grant replies and hands Frank the pieces of paper. It is a long letter. Longer than any of the others he sent previously. 

Frank reads the letter carefully, searching for details between each line, but his heart is beating crazily in his chest the entire time, and certain passages are more memorable than others.

_Mikey and I are well. Everyone is in a flurry preparing for the wedding, which we are all very much looking forward to._

And this is how Gerard chooses to announce his impending marriage. Frank grits his teeth and continues. 

_I had no concept of how much of the preparations would fall to me, but truth be told they rather appeal to my love of theatrics._

Frank keeps his breathing steady and reads on as Gerard rambles about wedding plans. He even includes funny little asides about the mother of the bride. Frank wants to cry. To scream. He reads on. 

_I met a poet at a soirée who called me beautiful and told me stories of the Western territories that seemed too fantastical to believe. Perhaps he was a liar, but what a way with words._

Frank snorts bitterly. Normally that sort of story would make him smile. He's angry again. 

_The best news is that once the wedding is over, we should be free to return home since all other family business that needs doing will be done by then._

Frank can barely read after that. The letter closes with cheery exhortations to "keep the door on the latch for us" and Frank grinds his teeth.

There is a separate note enclosed with the main letter, folded up on itself with Frank's name scrawled across it. He opens it and reads the four words that comprise it: _I miss you terribly._ His vision whites out and the paper crinkles as he crushes it in his fist, surging to his feet. Being just a small scrap of paper, it does not fly very far, so he casts around unthinkingly for something, _anything_ else to throw. His hand closes around a heavy bookend on one of Grant's shelves and he's about to throw it when Grant's hand closes around his wrist. 

"Frank." 

"Let go of me!" Frank growls. 

"No," he replies. "I will not. I care not one whit about that bookend or any of the things in this room, but if you throw that, you will regret it." 

"Why?" Frank says acidly. 

"Because it is the behavior of a child and you are not one," Grant responds. 

"Then enlighten me, Lord Morrison, what it is an adult would do." 

"Get a large glass of scotch and drink his problems away with a friend. Perhaps go on a trip simply for the distraction," Grant replies. 

Frank would rather throw things. But he takes a breath. Then another. 

"Are we getting drunk, or are we calling for the carriage?" he asks brittlely. 

"First one, then the other. London is pleasant enough this time of year, don't you think?" 

"If you say so. Get the decanter," Frank sighs. Grant goes over to the liquor cabinet and pours two very generous portions of scotch and gestures for him to sit in the seat in front of the fire. Frank gulps the first mouthful. He needs the burn. 

Grant takes a more measured drink. "Frank, I'm sorry." 

"Sorry would be if you could have done something and did not," Frank tells him. His initial rush of anger is still thrumming through him, directionless. He takes another drink. 

"You are in pain and I am sorry for that. It matters not if I could or could not have done something," Grant replies. 

"What am I to do?" Frank mumbles. 

"Many things. You could tour the continent, go to university, stay here with me. If he's married, I don't imagine he'd choose to knock about this old house any longer. Certainly not now that he's come into his fortune," Grant replies. 

Frank frowns. 

"You're not ready to hear this, are you?" Grant asks. 

"How long have you been rehearsing this conversation?" Frank replies. 

Grant's expression turns wry and he sighs. "Several weeks. Whatever you choose to do, I will help you do it." 

Frank takes another long drink of scotch, gasps once he swallows it down. "Why aren't you angry?" 

"He was never going to be mine, Frank," Grant says softly. "I came to terms with that long ago. If I am angry at all, it is on your behalf. Though, if he is married right now, it is because he felt he had little choice in the matter." 

Frank props his head on his hand. His glass is suddenly empty. "London, eh?" 

"London. We can go to parties and indulge in the pleasures of the city for a week. What say you?" Grant asks. 

"I say let's pack." 

Grant smiles. "Tomorrow. There's a train leaving from Glasgow at noon. Does that suit?" 

Frank pushes himself out of the chair, swaying heavily on his feet for a moment. "Yes, it suits," he says. 

Grant chuckles. "I'll inform Stewart we'll be away. He'll arrange our baggage. You either need more scotch, or you need to sleep." 

If Frank has more scotch, he's going to do something ill-advised. "Sleep," he repeats. 

"All right," Grant replies and stands. He steps forward and wraps a hand around Frank's upper arm.

Frank giggles. "Aren't you weary of steering me around this house yet?" 

"Not in the least. Come on, then. Up the stairs. You had rather a lot of scotch in a short amount of time," Grant says warmly. 

Frank peers around him to Grant's still half full tumbler. "Oh. I suppose I did." 

"First one, then the other," Grant repeats, wrapping an arm around his back and guiding him to the stairs. 

"Thank you," Frank slurs when they reach his door. His head is swimming even more than it was at the bottom of the stairs.

"Must I tuck you in?" Grant asks, holding him as he tries to turn the handle. 

"Wouldn't mind. You're the only person one who..." Frank manages to stop himself before he says _touches me_. The moment stretches out. Frank breathes hard. Grant gets the door open and tugs him into the parlor room. He very carefully closes the door behind him before he wraps Frank in his arms. 'Tis a brief embrace; Grant steers him toward the door to his bedroom before Frank can settle into it. Grant makes sure he's seated securely on the edge of his bed before stepping back. Frank bites back a whine. 

"Tomorrow, my boy. London." 

Frank nods. "Thank you," he repeats. It feels like the only thing he can say. Certainly 'tis the only thing he _should_ say in this condition.

"Good night," Grant says softly. Frank, in the middle of tugging a boot off, mumbles it back. 

*

He wakes up with a mild headache and only has a few minutes with some tea before his room is invaded by servants who need to pack his bags for London. He sighs and goes down to breakfast. Grant is quietly pleasant, as always. Frank is looking forward to their train journey, and to seeing Grant's London townhouse once again. It will be strange without Gerard, Frank thinks and then sighs heavily. Anger is rapidly giving way to the sharp ache of heartbreak. He'd prefer the anger. 

Once they reach the city and get ensconced in the townhouse, Grant suggests they go out. He takes Frank to a club. Which is clearly for people like them. Frank tries not to care how popular Grant seems to be. It was nice, is all, in the bubble if the house where he had all of Grant's attention. Well. Much of it. 

During the day, they visit museums and ride in the park - there is no fencing hall, of course, not in the townhouse - and Grant takes Frank around to his favorite pubs and cafes. They go to the theatre. It isn't until the third day that they return to the private club. One of Grant's friends finds him early on. 

Frank soon realizes he's much more familiar with Grant than the word "friend" implies. Frank recognizes him from the first night, too. He can hear Grant's voice in his head, talking resignedly about dalliances. Grant does not look resigned right now. He looks quite relaxed, flushed with pleasure - and probably quite a bit of liquor, because Frank was drinking with him until now.

Frank is suddenly angry. Angry that Grant can so easily find partners. Angry that Grant _would_ when the purpose of the trip was distracting _Frank_. But most especially angry that it is not him with whom Grant is flirting. Seeing that he's alone, several men come over to speak to him. Frank tries to reply politely - he's flattered, really, and he'd gotten over being overwhelmed by the nature of the club the first night - but he cannot look away from Grant. Who is decidedly not paying any mind to Frank, and who is... strolling off into a more quiet area of the club with his _friend_. No, Frank is not well pleased with that. 

He wants to put a stop to it, to make Grant look at him again. But he knows how unspeakably rude that would be, knows Grant would rightly be angry with him for it. He wishes he could so easily, so casually have a dalliance with someone. There are three men close by who, were Frank to indicate his interest, would immediately indulge him. But he cannot think of anyone but Gerard or Grant. Frank has another drink, rebuffs another advance or two, watches the other room. He can see Grant, still talking, his companion standing quite inappropriately close. 

After a while, Grant looks up and scans the club, making eye contact with Frank, who grits his teeth, then tosses back the last of his drink. He strolls into a quiet corner. Grant follows. 

"Frank," he says softly, "Would it be acceptable for me to ask you to return to the townhouse alone? I will certainly arrange a carriage for you." 

"No," Frank replies flatly. 

"No?" Grant asks. 

"It is not acceptable," Frank clarifies, stepping closer and curling one hand in Grant's shirtfront. 

Grant looks momentarily stunned and then he leans in close to whisper in Frank's ear. "Be very sure, Frank." 

"I am sure about nothing these days," Frank murmurs back, "except that I want you to touch me, and not stop. The choice is yours." 

"I choose you," Grant murmurs. Frank bites his lip hard. At least someone does. 

"Let's go home," Frank whispers. They don't talk much as they wait for a carriage, but Grant's hand is warm and heavy, tucked out of sight on Frank's waist. In the carriage, Grant pulls Frank tight against his side. Frank turns his face into Grant's neck. 

"I've wanted this so much," he whispers. 

"I didn't know," Grant whispers back, fingers curling through a lock of hair by Frank's ear. 

"I... at first I thought maybe I was trying to... spite Gerard or at least help myself forget by thinking of you. But that's not it at all." Frank lets his hand slide across Grant's stomach under his dinner jacket, lets his fingers sweep up and down Grant's side. Grant chuckles. 

"The man you so unexpectedly supplanted, tonight... he was to forget. You are infinitely more than that," he adds, voice smoothing out into a caress. His finger traces the shell of Frank's ear, and Frank shivers. Frank presses his lips to Grant's neck and is glad the carriage comes to a stop in front of the townhouse just then. At any other time, he would be perfectly happy to sit with Grant just like this for hours on end. Right now, he wants so much more. Wants to feel Grant's hands on his skin, wants Grant's mouth against his.

Frank pulls back, far enough that he and Grant can climb out of the carriage. Grant waves at Frank to precede him up the steps. Frank wants to take his hand, but knows that would be less than prudent on the street, even at night. He waits until the butler has the door closed behind them, until Grant has dismissed him for the night before allowing himself the indulgence. 

"Come upstairs," Grant murmurs, fingers linking with Frank's and squeezing. "I cannot hold back from more for long." 

"Don't," Frank says and tugs Grant toward the staircase. Grant leads Frank into his bedroom and closes the door behind him.

"I hardly know where to start," he says as he advances toward Frank. 

"Kiss me," Frank suggests. 

"Yes," Grant says, hands grasping Frank's hips and pulling him close. "I think I will." 

He leans down and presses his lips against Frank's. Frank is prepared - he thought he was prepared - but he still gasps. Grant just takes the opportunity to tangle their tongues together, stealing Frank's breath. Grant's hands slide to the small of Frank's back and he wraps his arms around Grant's neck. Grant is exploring his mouth and Frank can hardly think to respond, to move his tongue against Grant's. 

"You feel so good," Grant pulls back to murmur. "Give me more. I know you are not shy." 

"You make it difficult to think," Frank replies and leans up to kiss Grant again. He feels like a starving man, Grant's mouth food and drink both. Grant's skin... too much under wraps. Frank goes for his buttons by feel alone. He keeps kissing Grant, relishes the slide of their tongues against each other until he gets the buttons of Grant's waistcoat and shirt undone. Then he pulls back and shoves the jacket and waistcoat off his shoulders. Grant lets them fall to the floor and Frank starts working on removing his cuff links. Grant stands still for it, only breathing in sharply when Frank finishes and pushes the shirt down his arms, leaning in to nuzzle his bare chest. He brings his hands up to Grant's sides. 

"Grant," he whispers. He realizes he missed touching someone else just as much as he missed being touched. His body is responding to Grant's proximity with a racing heart, flushed face, cock pressing insistently against his buttons. Grant's hands are moving leisurely - unfastening, he realizes as air hits his skin. He does not want to move away when Grant gets to his cufflinks. 

"The sooner you're undressed, the sooner we can make use of the bed," Grant whispers in his ear. They have to separate to deal with boots and trousers. Frank grumbles about that too. Grant chuckles and when they're both entirely naked draws Frank into his arms and backs him up to the bed. He lowers Frank to the mattress and studies him for a moment. 

"Get down here," Frank demands. 

"No," Grant replies. "I am still looking." 

"Please," Frank whispers. "I want your skin against mine." Grant makes a noise in his throat and steps forward, but he stops at the edge of the mattress. Frank backs up against the headboard and lets his thighs spread wantonly. "Now?" 

Grant laughs again, this time a little breathlessly. "I can hardly say no. After I've had my fill of touching you, will you allow me to look at you?" 

"Are you likely to ever have your fill of touching me?" Frank asks. 

"I'm not a boy anymore," Grant laughs, but he crawls up the mattress in such a deliberate manner, with such a desirous gaze, that Frank just stares. "Though," he murmurs and runs a hand up Frank's thigh. "Perhaps you are right. Your skin is intoxicating. Pale and beautiful, trim little hips..." He leans in and Frank gasps, but Grant merely bites his hipbone and moves up. He nuzzles against Frank's belly and licks over his chest. Frank gasps and tugs on Grant's arm. He wants him closer, wants his body pressed against his. 

Finally Grant settles his full weight on Frank as he mouths up his neck. Frank moans, wraps his arms around Grant, and turns his jaw to give Grant better access to his neck. 

"Yes," Grant's voice rumbles against his throat. "Entirely intoxicating." 

"Worth going home with?" Frank murmurs, hands roaming across Grant's back. 

"Absolutely," Grant replies and finds his lips. Frank moans into his mouth and rolls his hips up against Grant's. Frank loses track of how long they lay there, kissing and touching, a never-ending embrace. There are few words save for murmured praise, moans. Frank craves the sound of his name on Grant's lips, does everything he can to draw it out again and again. 

Quite suddenly, the urge for _more_ creeps up on him. "Please, Grant." 

"Please what, love?" Grant asks. 

"Need you. Need more. _Please_." 

Grant rolls him on his side and runs his fingers down Frank's back until they brush over his entrance. "This is what you want, love?" 

"Yes," Frank gasps. "So much." 

"I can give you that," Grant whispers and lifts up. "I will give you whatever you want." Grant leans over to a bedside table, grabs a small bottle. Frank shivers as Grant's cock presses hard against his hip. "You want this so very much, don't you?" Grant growls. 

"I cannot... more than... _yes_." 

"Good," he breathes. Grant gets his fingers slick and rubs them over Frank's entrance again, pushes one finger just barely inside. Frank nearly cries out - the sensation, the sheer relief. The way Grant gentles his fingers and murmurs Frank's name. 

"More. Please, more," he begs. Grant presses his lips to the center of Frank's chest and pushes a second finger in next to the first. "Need it, need you." He cannot stop the words. Grant's mouth trails over to close around a nipple. Frank moans and arches up against Grant's mouth. "Grant," he gasps. 

"I need to be inside you," Grant says against Frank's throat. 

"Yes. Yes, yes." 

Grant adds a third finger and thrusts them in and out of him several times, until Frank cannot form words anymore. Then Grant removes his fingers and slicks up his cock. Frank merely holds his knees up against his chest and hopes his eyes convey how much he wants Grant because he cannot speak. Grant lays a hand on Frank's hip and pushes inside, slow. Smooth. 

Frank groans. He feels huge and it is exactly what Frank needs. Once Grant bottoms out, Frank wraps his legs around Grant's waist and reaches for him. He wraps his hands around the back of Grant's neck and kisses him, uses his tongue in time with Grant's strokes inside him. Grant is propped on his elbows, mouth on Frank's, hands twined in Frank's hair, and every motion of his hips draws moans out of them both. Then Grant pulls back. 

"Let me - he gasps, pushing up enough to get a hand in between them. Frank keens and thrusts into Grant's hand. "Beautiful," Grant whispers against his lips. "I want to feel you." Grant kisses his cheek, his ear, his jaw. Frank bucks up. It is too much, not enough. He comes hard, holding Grant tight and clenching around him. Grant crushes their mouths together again, thrusting erratically several more times before groaning against Frank's lips and spilling inside him. 

"Frank," he gasps. "Frank." Frank holds him, moves his hands to stroke his shoulders, his head, cups his cheeks. 

"Grant, so good, _Grant_." Grant pulls out and Frank gasps. Grant runs a soothing hand over his chest and gets up to get a cloth from the wash basin and uses it to clean them up. When he settles back onto the bed, Frank rolls into his arms immediately. 

"You can look now," Frank smiles, stretching against him. Grant chuckles close to his ear and goes up on his elbow. 

"I shall take the opportunity." He traces down Frank's arm and stops on the anchor there. "Wicked," Grant murmurs. He sounds appreciative, though. 

"The last time we came to London," Frank says. "That's when I got it done. My father was a captain in the Navy. I didn't want to forget." 

"Fitting, then," Grant murmurs. "Any other artwork on your beautiful skin, my boy?" 

"Look and see," Frank replies with a lazy smile. Grant does; with hands as well as eyes, until Frank is humming with skin satisfied by touch. 

"You behave like a man starved," Grant murmurs. "I wish..." he sighs and shakes his head. 

"Tell me," Frank says. 

"I wish there were a way I could have made things better for you. I wish many things," Grant murmurs. 

"You did everything I needed at the time. Even if neither of us knew it," Frank says and cups Grant's cheek. 

"I want to do it again," Grant says meaningfully. "And again." 

"As much as you want. Whatever you want," Frank says. "I've been yours since -" Since you put a foil into my hand. Since you handed me a blank book. "Next time," Frank breathes, abandoning the words, "I want you in my mouth, Grant." 

"I shan't stop you," Grant replies. "Perhaps when we wake in the morning we can see to each other's pleasure once again. Would you like my hands, Frank?" 

"Yes, Grant, yes. Am I - may I - I may stay with you tonight?" Frank breathes. 

Grant tightens his arms around Frank. "I would be quite distraught if you didn't." 

"Kiss me again now," Frank orders. Grant huffs out a laugh and complies. Grant's mouth feels just as good against his as Frank suspected it would. He does not want to stop, but it is getting increasingly difficult to open his eyes again after each kiss. He does not want to sleep, but eventually he tucks his face against Grant's neck and succumbs. 

He wakes up the next morning with his back to Grant's chest and Grant's arm over him, holding him tight. He lies there, staring across the room in the dim light. He feels... better rested than he has since before Gerard left. Thinking of Gerard makes him ache and he takes a deep breath. He tries not to let his eyes tear up. 

Grant is not a substitute. He is assuredly not. His merits, his attractions - but there is no one in the world like Gerard. Frank feels faithless for being happy and satisfied, and inadequate for coming to Grant without his full heart. His heart. He cannot put it at risk again, but he fears it is far too late. 

And then he's angry again. Angry at Gerard for putting him in this position, angry at the world for being the way it is that Gerard felt as if he had to do so. Angry at himself for he knows not what. Being so devastated, perhaps. No more, he decides. 

He will give Grant however much of himself that Grant desires, for as long as he desires. Grant deserves no less. Frank turns in Grant's arms so he can see his face. Apparently Grant is already awake. Grant leans in and presses a kiss to his lips. "You are well this morning?" 

"I am now," Frank replies. He kisses Grant again and then down his neck, his chest and goes about doing just as he promised the night before.

He has the pleasure of bringing Grant to hardness with his mouth. Frank enjoys every moment of it, the taste, the feel of Grant in his mouth, the noises Grant makes as Frank sucks him. His hands card through Frank's hair, soft as a whisper. Perhaps later Frank can goad him into being a little rough. He moans softly and Grant echoes it. When Grant finishes in Frank's mouth, he pulls Frank up his body almost immediately and wraps a hand around Frank's cock and kisses him. _Yes, yes,_ Frank would say if he could, but he cannot, so he merely moans and thrusts into Grant's grip, tight, perfect. 

"Beautiful," Grant murmurs and runs his thumb over the head of Frank's cock. 

"You are," Frank gasps. "Can never take my eyes off of you." 

Grant leans down to kiss him and Frank moans into his mouth. Grant speeds up his strokes. "I want to watch your face when you find release. What do you need?" 

"Don't be gentle," Frank urges, rolling more fully onto his back and plucking at his own nipple with his fingers. Grant licks his lips and leans down to bite his other nipple. "Grant," Frank groans and bucks up into his hand. Grant stops being so careful with his strokes and pulls back up to watch Frank's face. "Yes," Frank moans, arching into Grant's hand. Grant keeps stroking fast and hard until Frank stiffens, arches up, and comes in his hand. Grant strokes him through it. Frank feels his eyes the entire time. 

"Beautiful boy," he whispers, milking his cock until Frank whimpers. He pulls Frank fully into his arms and rolls them over so he's on top of Grant. Frank rubs his cheek against Grant's chest. 

"That was a pleasant awakening," Grant murmurs. 

"'Tis one of my particular talents," Frank replies. 

"Remind me to allow you to demonstrate any more talents you may have, then," Grant says lazily. "What shall we do today?" 

"I would not object to staying right here all day," Frank says. "But perhaps a walk in the park, later? Is tonight the dinner party, or tomorrow?" 

"Tonight. And now I shall be quite impatient throughout. But yes, a walk would be quite nice." 

"If it is raining, perhaps a gallery or a tea house. I'd rather be outside, though," Frank murmurs. 

"We go home the day after tomorrow. Is there anything specific you'd like to do before we go?" 

"Anything as long as you're doing it with me," Frank says with a little smirk. 

Grant laughs and leans down to kiss him. "And where did you learn to be such a flirt, Mister Iero?" 

"Do you want me to answer that truly?" Frank says, half-mockingly, half-regretfully. 

"I would not mind hearing if you would not mind telling," Grant murmurs and strokes his cheek with the back of two fingers. 

"Gerard was always a joy to tease," Frank murmurs. "It comes rather...naturally to me, though." 

Grant smiles again. "Yes, it rather does. I very much enjoyed those early days when you still thought you needed to be properly deferential, but couldn't quite manage it." 

"I rather desperately wanted your attention," Frank tells him. "I didn't quite realize why. Perhaps this has always been here. Since the first time you read to me when I was ill and couldn't remember." 

"I like reading to you," Grant replies. 

"I like being read to," Frank says. "It is... comforting at times. But mostly I like listening to your voice." 

"It is just a voice," Grant protests. 

"It makes me want you," Frank whispers. 

"Then I shall be certain to use it all the time," Grant murmurs directly in his ear. 

Frank shivers. "If we mean to get out of this bed, we should do so, else we may never leave it." 

"Wise," Grant whispers, kissing Frank's ear before rolling out of bed. Frank watches his arse for a moment and then gets up as well. He sighs when he sees his scattered clothing and remembers that he must gather his clothes and go down the hall to his bedroom. 

"I suppose I must dress and hurry, so as not to scandalize your staff." 

Grant laughs. "They are accustomed to me, and loyal. But here." He fetches a robe from his wardrobe and drapes it around Frank's shoulders, tying the sash himself and using it to tug Frank close for another lingering kiss. 

"See you at breakfast," Frank says and forces himself to pull out of the circle of Grant's arms. His room, the room he and Gerard always shared, is cold. Frank still doesn't feel himself the writer Grant swears he is, but he feels that's an apt metaphor. He dresses quickly and clatters down the stairs to breakfast. Grant takes a few more minutes, and the smile he gives Frank when he walks in the room is sun-bright. Frank lets out a breath and beams back. Breakfast is a leisurely affair, much of it spent talking instead of eating. Grant tells him of the guests that will be at the party tonight. 

"How many of your especial friends must I fend off tonight?" Frank asks brazenly. Grant merely laughs. 

"Not one, I shall fend them off myself." He reaches beneath the table and squeezes Frank's hand. 

"You will not even give me the pleasure?" Frank teases. "After all, look at me." 

"If it would please you, you may do all the fending off you like," Grant replies.

"It pleases me. You please me," Frank murmurs. 

"I am very glad of that," Grant says and takes a sip of coffee. "I find you rather pleasing as well." Frank smiles and sips his own. 

The dinner party that night is enjoyable enough. Frank does not precisely paste himself to Grant's side, but he is not at all subtle about the fact that he is Grant's lover. What happens after the dinner party is even more enjoyable. He and Grant keep one another awake late into the night. 

They spend their last day in London going all over the city. Grant has business to attend to and Frank has nothing better to do than tag along. He does not particularly _want_ to do anything else. Grant seems to enjoy the company as much as he. And the opportunity for stolen kisses behind the curtains of their carriage. 

The next morning, they leave the townhouse to return to Scotland. The journey is long and tiring, but Frank enjoys sitting close to Grant in their private compartment and reading to each other. 

By the time the train pulls into the station in Glasgow, Frank is very much ready to be off the train and back home. To the point that he's needlessly short with Grant. 

"Is something amiss, love?" Grant asks, as always unaccountably patient. 

"Sorry. No. Ready to be off this damn train and home," Frank replies and is grateful they're still in their compartment so he can lean up to give Grant a quick kiss. 

"I am looking forward to it as well," Grant says, touching Frank's cheek with his fingertips. Frank leans into the touch for just a moment before pulling open the door of their compartment. The carriage ride to the house feels interminable, but Frank manages not to be a snappish bastard. 

"I shall ask the staff to prepare a special dinner for us tonight," Grant says, thumb caressing Frank's wrist for a moment. 

"That sounds wonderful," Frank says. He holds back a relieved sigh. Until this very moment, he hasn't realized how uncertain he'd been about what would happen when they returned home. 

"Indeed. It is good to be home," Grant says as they turn in the gravel drive. 

"Yes, yes it is," Frank replies. The staff seem pleased to see them, which makes Frank smile. He wishes it weren't so late, he'd like to go see his horse, but that can wait for tomorrow. 

"And after dinner," Grant says. 

"We can retire to your rooms," Frank suggests. 

Grant smiles slowly. "I'll have a fire laid. And send up the best whiskey." 

"I'll go change for dinner," Frank says with a grin and a quick kiss to Grant's cheek. He's still smiling as he calls for a bath, washes away the travel grime and dresses in one of his nicer suits. Thoughts of Gerard are still in the back of his mind. Sometimes they're a dull ache, sometimes a sharp pain, but they're tempered by how happy he is about Grant. 

Dinner is both wonderful and somewhat torturously long. Grant seems to be enjoying it, though. At least he's enjoying watching Frank try not to be impatient. He lingers over every sip of his wine, savors every bite of food, all while shooting Frank little smirks. Finally, Grant lays down his utensils, stands, and gestures for Frank to follow him. When they get to the hall, Grant holds his hand out and Frank takes it. Grant holds his hand all the way up to his rooms. 

"I have been looking forward to touching you all day," Grant says when he gets the door closed behind them. But he doesn't do anything more. He merely squeezes Frank's hand and then goes to stoke the fire. 

"A drink?" he asks. Frank takes a deep breath. 

"Please," he murmurs. Grant pours him a drink and pulls him down onto the chaise lounge in front of the fire with him. 

"Dinner was nice," Frank says. "But this is nicer." 

"I very much agree," Grant says and kisses Frank's temple. Frank nuzzles back and takes a sip of whiskey. "I would like to do this every evening," Grant says softly. Pleasure rushes through Frank and his stomach clenches. 

"Yes," he practically gasps. "Yes, I would like that very much." 

_Do you love me, Grant?_ he thinks. The thought wouldn't have crossed his mind two days ago, but here, in their home, absolutely peaceful...he's not sure. He hopes. If nothing else, perhaps Grant will learn to love him. He thinks it would be very easy to love Grant. He thinks, perhaps, he already does. 

"What can I give you tonight, love?" Grant asks, setting his glass aside and trailing his fingers up and down Frank's thigh. 

"Your mouth? Everywhere. I want it everywhere. And I want you to take me again. I need... I need you," Frank says. 

"I am at your service," Grant says; Frank steals a look at his face and his eyes are twinkling. 

"Are you laughing at me?" Frank asks. He's not serious, but he wants Grant's answer anyway. 

"I am utterly delighted and enchanted by you," Grant says. "And how easily you tell me what you need."

"He who hesitates is lost," Frank quotes. 

"Very true," Grant says. "Shall we move to the bed, or would you rather sit here longer? Mind, I can start using my mouth on you as we sit." Frank closes his eyes and makes a little noise in his throat. 

"Grant," he whispers, "I cannot even..." 

"I think you would look well, spread out on my chaise," Grant murmurs. "Do you want my marks, Frank?" 

"Please," Frank gasps. Grant reaches around him and starts unbuttoning his many layers. 

"Lean back against the chaise, love," he murmurs, pushing Frank's coat, waistcoat, and shirt down his arms. Frank helps him with the cuff links and shakes free of the material. Frank does as Grant says, and Grant's hands immediately slide up his chest and he leans down to suck a mark over Frank's heart. 

"Beautiful," he murmurs. "Another?" 

"Always more," Frank moans. "Please." 

"You beg as beautifully as you wear my marks," Grant tells him. And leaves more, half a dozen scattered over Frank's chest and neck. Frank's cock is aching from the first kiss, waiting for Grant's touch. Grant leans up and whispers in his ear, "Do you want me to suck you, love?" 

"Please, Grant. I cannot - it has been - I will not last but I need -" 

"I don't need you to last," Grant says. "I need to taste you, feel you in my mouth." 

Frank moans and scrabbles at the buttons on his trousers. Grant helps him push them down, tugs them and his boots off his feet. Frank stares down at his own cock, flushed red, leaking, curved up against his belly. Obvious, undeniable. "Look what you've done to me," he groans. 

"I am. I will take great joy in sucking you until you can hardly breathe. And then I shall take you and make your blood run hot." Grant takes Frank's cock in his mouth. 

"Hotter, perhaps." Frank gasps as Grant works him with lips and tongue. He rests his hands on Grant's head, strokes down to his shoulders and back up. When Grant pulls back to suck hard on the head of his cock, Frank stutters out his name and bucks into his mouth. Grant grips tightly onto his hips and moves with him. Frank gasps as the head of his cock hits the back of Grant's throat and Grant swallows around him. His fingers tighten on Grant's shoulders. Grant takes it as a warning and pulls back, sucking at the head again until Frank cries out his name and spills into his mouth, keening anew at the feeling of Grant's tongue swirling to lick him clean. 

"Grant. So good," Frank pants. He loosens his grip on Grant's shoulders, grips the back of his neck, and tugs. 

"Your clothes need to come off," he murmurs and presses his lips against Grant's. 

"I will see you in my bed first," Grant answers. Grant lets Frank kiss him for a few more moments, lets Frank taste himself on Grant's tongue. And then he leans back and stands up, pulling Frank with him. Frank reaches for his clothing immediately. His hands are surprisingly steady after such intense release, but he knows what he wants. What he needs. He gets all Grant's buttons undone and then pulls each piece of clothing off. Grant is well-made - as lean as a much younger man, and as beautiful to look upon as to listen to. Frank wraps himself around Grant, desperate to feel his skin. Grant returns the embrace, holds him close. 

"On the bed, love," he says quietly.

"Only if you're joining me," he answers, tugging gently. Grant smiles. 

"Of course I'm joining you." He backs Frank up to the bed, and Frank sits and moves up toward the headboard. Grant crawls after him and settles on top of him when he reaches the pillows. "I love the feel of you," Grant whispers in Frank's ear, smoothing the hair out of the way and kissing him softly. Frank wraps his arms around Grant's neck and kisses back. 

"So much." He rolls his hips, rubs himself up against Grant's hard cock. He's still almost too sensitive, but he craves it anyway. And Grant is undeniably more than ready for him. But still teasing, as is his wont. 

Grant lifts up and traces over Frank's chest and neck with his fingertips. "I am going to enjoy looking at these marks tomorrow." 

"I fear you've left a few well above my collar," Frank murmurs. 

"So that I might enjoy them throughout the day," Grant replies with a smirk. 

"If it amuses you, my lord," Frank teases, running his fingers up and down Grant's spine. Perhaps Grant can be teased into making good on his promises. Grant huffs a laugh. 

"You please me." He leans down to kiss Frank again and then pulls back and reaches for the little jar on the night table. When he returns with slick fingers, he does not tease, merely leans down to kiss Frank as he presses fingers inside him. Slowly. Carefully. Frank shivers. 

"Grant," he whispers. 

"Yes, love," Grant answers, twisting the fingers of his free hand in Frank's hair. 

"Don't stop. Please," Frank gasps out as Grant strokes in and crooks his fingers. 

"I will not, not until I'm inside you. Are you ready, love?" 

"Yes. Ready. Please," he breathes. Grant pushes his knees wider and lines up. He slides in slow and steady. 

"Frank," Grant groans. "You feel divine. Are you sure you -" 

"Take your pleasure," Frank whispers. "It will surely also - be mine."

Grant moans in his ear and thrusts in slowly a couple of times and then leans up and pulls Frank with him. "Wrap your legs around my waist," he urges. Frank does and Grant moans again. He's holding Frank tight against his body and thrusts up into him. "So good." 

"Let me feel you," Frank urges. 

"Yes," Grant gasps and thrusts up again. Frank moans. He's so deep and feels so good. "I don't believe I can delay any - longer," Grant mutters. 

"Don't. Don't hold back." 

Frank cups Grant's cheeks in his hands and kisses him as he thrusts hard up into him. Grant's arms tighten around him and he thrusts one last time and groans into Frank's mouth. Frank grips him tighter. The sensation of Grant's release makes him wish he could join him. But he wants to keep Grant inside him as long as possible. They kiss and kiss; Frank holds him close, slides his hands up and down Grant's back. 

"Your face, just after, is one of my favorite sights," Frank tells him. He cannot keep the tenderness he feels from suffusing his voice. 

Grant presses his lips against Frank's jaw for a moment, silent. Grant seems to not be in any rush to move, so they stay as they are, hands wandering over each other's bodies, slow and gentle. "This moment," Grant says after a while, soft and almost hesitant for such a bold man, "is - the happiest I have been in a very long time." 

Frank swallows and kisses Grant again. He wonders how long "very long" is. "I...you are a treasure I didn't even know I had," Frank tells him. 

"You have me now," Grant murmurs. It sounds like a promise. They cannot physically get any closer, but Frank wriggles like it might happen anyway. Grant sucks in a breath. He's clearly sensitive, but he makes no move to pull out. Frank pulls Grant's face down to his again. He wants more of Grant's kisses. Grant obliges him and they kiss for what feels like hours, but is probably only minutes. 

Eventually, Grant lowers Frank back onto the bed and pulls out. The sensation makes both of them gasp. "I ordered up hot water," Grant says, slipping off the bed to head to the washstand. Frank watches unabashedly as Grant cleans himself, and sighs with pleasure when Grant returns with a warm cloth for him and insists on cleaning Frank with his own hands. He's slow and thorough and Frank enjoys every moment. 

When he's done and settles back on the bed, Frank turns on his side with his back to Grant's chest and pulls Grant's arm around him. Grant curls around him obligingly, tangling their feet together and tugging him close. "Frank," he murmurs against the back of Frank's neck. Frank laces their fingers together over his chest. 

"Grant..." he trails off. He's not sure he has words for all the things he's feeling right now. The last few months have made a man out of him, he thinks. Every ride with Grant to visit the manor's tenants. His hard-won skill at fencing, in the hall below. The man holding him and their shared... anger, sadness, comfort, release. Frank thinks he's glad of it. He thinks Grant would be glad to hear it, if he only had the words to tell him. He feels, more than ever before, that perhaps there are things out in the world waiting for him to come see, or even study. The ache in his chest that is Gerard is still there. Perhaps it will always be there. But he has some hope and he has Grant, and they help.

"Sleep, my love," Grant whispers into his hair. "Tomorrow will come soon enough." 

Frank's breath stops for a moment and then he lets it out in a whoosh. "Yes. Tomorrow. Fencing? I missed it while we were away." 

"As did I," Grant says warmly. "It shall be as you please. Sleep well." 

"And you," Frank murmurs and closes his eyes. 

The next morning is a warm blur of hands and mouths until they bring each other off, and then they dress for breakfast. It is no hardship to separate to dress, knowing Grant will be smiling at him over his newspaper in mere minutes. Knowing that when the breakfast dishes are cleared, they're free to retreat to Grant's study with the tea service and curl around one another on the settee. 

It is all as Frank expects. Except for Stewart, appearing at the study door with a peculiar expression and a terse, "Milord, a carriage -" 

Before he even finishes the sentence, a figure bursts around him and into the room. "Gerard!" Grant says, shock evident in his voice. Gerard is staring at them, happy grin falling off his face. 

"Gee," Frank breathes, transfixed. He looks thin and travel-weary, and the fading bloom of pleasure still leaves cheeks faintly ruddied by salt and sun. Grant hasn't moved an inch, but the arm he has slung over Frank's shoulders is hard as a rock with tension. 

"I can see how much you've missed me," Gerard spits out. And then Frank is angry again. So, so angry. 

"I've missed you every single day. Not one hour has gone by when I didn't miss you. Where's your wife, Gerard?"

"I -" Now shock touches Gerard's voice instead - "Have no wife," he says, sounding small and lost. "I have nothing. Just myself. What is going on here?" 

Frank shivers, a tremor born of tension that he cannot hope to control. Grant holds him tighter. 

"Gerard, the last letter we received from you spoke of wedding preparations. As you had spoken kindly of Miss Asher and your uncle had implied you should consider her for a wife, we could only assume you had married her," Grant explains. 

He sounds... Frank does not know, quite, but he suddenly wants to cry. Gerard is going to, Frank realizes. His eyes are brilliant with unshed tears, his voice thick. "Mikey got married. He wrote you and told you all about it, I saw the letter. I didn't...Mikey, not me. Never me." 

He hauls in an audible breath, casting his eyes over them both, then turns on his heel and leaves the room. Frank jerks in place but does not stand, just turns his face into Grant's neck. He bites his lip hard, trying to stem the flow. He's not successful. Of all the myriad of ways Frank has imagined Gerard's homecoming over the months, this was not one of them. This never crossed his mind once. 

Grant pulls Frank into his arms and holds him. He hasn't said a word since his attempted explanation. Perhaps he has none to say. Frank doesn't either. 

Stewart coughs at the door a few minutes later. "Sirs, Mister Way and his wife will be up shortly." 

"Thank you, Stewart," Grant says softly. He lifts Frank's chin with his fingers. He looks sad. So very sad. Frank hates it. 

"Don't," Frank says, leaning in to kiss him softly on the lips. 

"You made promises to him," Grant says. "You should keep them." 

"The only reason I haven't made promises to you is because I haven't had time to," Frank whispers. "Do you not want my promises?" 

"I do want them," Grant murmurs. "But I know better than to accept them at this moment. I hope you understand that." 

Frank takes a deep breath. "I do. This feels worse than his letter did. How is that possible?" 

"Because you have a choice," Grant answers. 

"No, I do not," Frank retorts. "I will not." 

Grant gives him a look, opens his mouth to speak, but at that moment Stewart announces Mikey. Frank draws back and they both stand as Mikey and an extraordinarily pretty woman come into the room. Frank is sure he looks frightful and knows Grant's face is showing his own distress quite clearly. But Mikey's face is the most welcome thing Frank could possibly imagine and he surges forward to embrace him before he even has a moment to introduce his wife.

Mikey holds him and even squeezes and Frank is so glad. Soon enough this whole mess will come crashing down and Mikey will be in the middle. 

"Did you bring me a sister?" Frank whispers in Mikey's ear. 

Mikey squeezes him. "I did." He pulls back and turns to the woman next to him. She's looking at Mikey as if he hung the moon and it makes Frank grin to see. "Frank, this is my wife, Alicia. Alicia, this is Frank, my brother of choice, rather than blood," he gestures toward Grant, "And this is Grant, Lord Morrison, who has been a dear friend and confidant since our parents died." 

"He's told me quite a bit about you both," she says in an American accent, shaking hands. "But if we're being formal, I am delighted to meet you both." 

"And you, Mrs. Way," Grant says with a smile. 

"Alicia, please," she replies. "I'm not that formal."

"It's wonderful to meet you," Frank says. "I admit, we knew nothing about you until ten minutes ago, so you'll have to tell is all about yourself." 

"You missed my letter?" Mikey asks. 

"Your letter never arrived," Grant says. "As we discovered when Gerard came to greet us." He and Mikey exchange a speaking glance. 

"If you're being delicate on my account, there is no need," Alicia puts in. 

"We got a letter from him rambling about wedding preparations. There was only one conclusion to he made from the information we had available. His letters prior to that held scant information," Grant explains. 

"He spoke so highly of Miss Asher," Frank says. "What else could I think? And. Mikey," Frank says miserably. "Everything is ruined." 

"Where is he?" Mikey asks. "What's ruined? What have you done?" Frank looks helplessly at Grant. Grant reaches out to touch his cheek reassuringly. "Oh," says Mikey. "Of course you did. Was it spite?" Mikey asks. His tone is flat, but Frank hears every bit of anger there. 

"No, Mikey. That's not what it is at all." 

"Then I don't know why you thought it a good idea to begin a dalliance with the only other person Gerard has loved. Even if he came back married to Victoria... for whom, by the way, he worked tirelessly to help her marry the man she loves. He will be paying a yearly allowance to the Saporta family until he dies." 

Frank swallows hard and sits back down. Alicia sits next to him and lays fingers on his arm. "Would you prefer I leave?" 

"No," Frank replies raggedly. "I don't..." He laughs a little hysterically. "Welcome to the family." 

"Oh, brilliant, take his part," Mikey sighs at Alicia. 

"I shall, because I know you will take your brother's." 

"Frank is my brother too," Mikey says and sighs again. "Just tell me why, so I can go try to reason with Gerard." 

Grant speaks up. "We were alone, and became close. And suffered what we thought was a quite irreversible loss. Can you honestly find fault with two friends gaining a measure of happiness through mutual sorrow?" 

"For months, I felt as if my heart was being slowly pulled from my chest. Grant told me to have faith in Gerard and I tried very hard to. And then we got that letter and it was like he'd stomped on my heart, then threw it into the sea. I... Grant has helped," he tries to explain. 

"Do you love him?" Mikey asks, looking between both of them. 

"I do," Frank says slowly. He shifts his gaze from Mikey to Grant. 

Grant gives him such a tender look, Frank nearly starts crying again. He does not even need to hear it when Grant says, "I do as well." 

"Then I am sorry I accused you of dalliance, but what does this mean for Gerard?" Mikey asks. 

"Frank and I made no promises. We only got Gerard's letter just over a week ago. Nothing happened before that. Frank has no obligation to me," Grant says. 

Frank's mouth thins into a hard line and he has to breathe through his nose for a moment. "Do you think that helps? That I could cast you away so carelessly?" 

"I long ago resigned myself to being alone," Grant says. "And I love the both of you too much for you to suffer on my account." 

"You love me?" a shaky voice speaks from the study door. Gerard's face is red and tear-stained and Frank desperately wants to hold him. 

"You have been the light of my life for six years now, Gerard," Grant says quietly. "I long intended to tell you when you turned twenty-five. So you would not feel you had to... so you would not feel beholden to me. But we met Frank before that day could come, and so I kept my silence." Gerard opens his mouth, then closes it again. 

"Maybe we should go," Alicia says quietly to Mikey. 

"Maybe we should all go," Frank adds. "Gerard, Mikey, and Alicia probably want to clean up and rest. We can - Gee - no one is going anywhere. I promise. Promise me." 

"I cannot... I..." Gerard rubs his hands through his hair. "I didn't think it was possible for anything to be worse than the last months have been. I wanted... I just wanted." His breathing is ragged and Frank cannot stand it another second. He steps forward and wraps his arms around Gerard. 

A moment later, he feels Grant take them both in his arms and he feels Mikey and Alicia brush by. Gerard draws in another labored breath, but it is Frank who suddenly, unexpectedly starts to sob. Grant's lips press against his temple and Gerard squeezes tighter. 

"I'm sorry," Frank gasps out. "I'm so sorry." 

"I love you, Frankie," Gerard whispers. 

"I love you too. I thought I'd lost you and I... oh god." He buries his face in Gerard's shoulder. 

"I came back to you. I'll never leave you again. Unless - you -" 

"Frank," Grant whispers and steps back. "You are made for each other. I'll go." 

"No," Frank says fiercely and grabs the lapels of his jacket. "You love us. We love you. Why must any of us make a choice or a sacrifice?" 

Grant looks back steadily. "I've made them already. I realized my ultimate fate the moment you woke up in my guest bedroom." 

"You keep saying that," Gerard whispers. "Frankie wants to know why he must choose. But...I would have liked to know I had one." 

"I cannot change that now. All I can do is ensure that the two of you have a happy future," Grant says. 

Frank is suddenly angry at Grant's dismissal of his own happiness. "And what of you? Dammit, Grant," he snaps, hauling him in for a frustrated kiss. He can see Gerard out of the corner of his eye, mouth open. Watching. "We both love you and you love us," he repeats when he pulls back an inch. "Why are you making a choice for us that needs not be made at all?" 

"No," Gerard says when Grant looks his way, "It is an impossible choice. I agree with Frank." 

"Gerard. Frank. I want all three of us to step back and think about this seriously for a few days," Grant finally says. "I need you to be sure." 

"We can. We will," Gerard murmurs. "Grant..." he hesitates. Frank has rarely seen him look so torn. Grant seems to understand, and steps forward to cup his cheek. 

"I'm sorry I never told you before," Grant murmurs. "But...I'm not asking for a long time. In the meantime, there is plenty to keep us occupied. Perhaps Frank and I can demonstrate his skill at fencing for you." 

Gerard looks arrested by the thought. "Yes," he breathes. "I do believe you must." The first finger of want curls and blooms inside Frank at the sound of his voice. It will be a very long few days. But if that's what Grant wants, that's what Grant will get. 

"And we need to help Alicia get settled in," Frank says. "Does she ride, Gerard? Perhaps she would like to see the estate?" 

"She rides," Gerard replies. "She's... she's lovely. I know you both will like her a great deal." 

"I have no doubt. If she's someone Mikey loves, surely we will also." 

"She was the only good thing about the trip. Everything else was... it does not bear speaking about," Gerard says with a shake of his head. 

"Then we will not speak of it, unless you desire to," Grant says. He crosses the room and sits at his desk. It is clear to Frank that it is a dismissal. If they so desire. But Frank does want to speak to Gerard privately. He takes a moment to go to Grant, put a hand on his shoulder. 

When Grant looks at him, Frank tries to smile. "I love you," he whispers. "I'm sorry I didn't get to tell you properly. That it didn't get to be the joyous phrase it should have been." 

"My heart is full of love for you," Grant murmurs back. "I can only hope to deserve yours." Frank touches his cheek, then returns to Gerard. He makes certain to take Gerard's hand as they pass through the door. 

When they get out into the hall, they automatically start walking toward the bedrooms. Toward their bedroom. Frank stops them at a small nook where he spent time reading over the months. 

"Come sit with me," he asks. Gerard bites his lip and nods. When they are tucked onto the love seat together, Frank very deliberately takes Gerard's hand again. "Please forgive me," he says simply. 

"I..." Gerard takes a deep breath. "I will, of course. I..." He squeezes Frank's hand tight. "I've never felt so utterly betrayed in my life. I know you didn't really. I know that. But the feeling is lingering and it's terrible. I'm sorry I didn't write more. I was afraid if I said what I was doing that I'd jinx it somehow." 

"He loves you so much," Frank whispers. "It was the only thing that helped, strangely, to know someone else understood." 

"I never knew," Gerard says. "Did you all know and not tell me?" 

"I cannot speak for anyone else, but for my part, I realized on your birthday this year. And I didn't tell you because I knew you shared his feelings and I was jealous and afraid." 

"Frankie," Gerard breathes. They just stare at one another for a moment, then Gerard asks, "What are we to do?" 

"I truly believe that it would be folly to make a choice. Or to allow Grant to give up all his hopes of either of us. He wants time. I intend to spend it convincing him of that." 

Gerard nods slowly. "I'll help. He's so quick to dismiss his own desires," Gerard murmurs. "I don't understand. That's not something I'd ever have expected from him." 

"I believe Grant keeps his indulgences fleeting," Frank answers. "It was I who approached him, or the chance would have passed us by. He asked me to be sure then, too." 

"Perhaps he does not trust himself," Gerard says. "He should trust us." 

"Do you trust me?" Frank asks. He forces himself to look unblinkingly into Gerard's eyes. 

"Frankie... of course I do. You have far more reason to distrust me. I left you and I broke our promises before I did," Gerard says quietly. He swallows hard and his gaze twitches away, but he forces himself to look back at Frank. 

"You came back to me. I should have had faith." Frank's voice wobbles so he just leans forward, cups his hand around the back of Gerard's head and pulls their mouths together. Gerard's entire body seems to sag with relief and he kisses Frank back with enthusiasm, his arms snaking around Frank's waist. 

"I missed you so much," he whispers. 

"Like a missing limb," Frank whispers back. "I was all wrong and out of sorts and the only thing that helped was fencing and riding with Grant. And then I fell ill," Frank says. 

"Frankie," Gerard says in a tone of concern. Frank smooths a hand through his hair. 

"No, no. It appears the exercise has strengthened my lungs. I was never in any real danger. Just desperately out of sorts. And Grant stayed with me, day by day. Read to me, tended me with his own hands. I - how could I not find love there?" 

Gerard leans forward and kisses him again. "I'm glad he was here, I truly am. I'm sorry I wasn't. But perhaps... perhaps this will all turn out for the better because I was gone for a time." 

Frank twists a lock of Gerard's hair around his finger. "Would climbing into Grant's bed with me of a night be better?" he whispers. 

"Better is the wrong word. I have been so happy with you. Content. I didn't need him to be happy. But..." he trails off and makes a frustrated face. Frank squeezes his hand. 

"Perhaps...perhaps love is like my lungs. The more you exercise your heart, the more love there is to share." 

"Perhaps that's true. At any rate, I think 'tis true for us." His voice drops. "And I cannot think of a single thing I would prefer to being in bed with you and with Grant. Is he..." 

"Is he what?" Frank smirks. 

"What's he like, you pillock," Gerard asks, pinching Frank's arm lightly. God, he missed Gerard. Missed himself, missed his touch, missed the teasing and joking and every little thing about him. 

"Well, he doesn't pinch, for one," Frank pouts. It lasts for about three seconds before he's sniggering again at Gerard's impatient face. "Unimaginably thorough," he adds in a low voice. "Tender. A tease. I intend to watch you two together. I don't know who I'd lay my wager on to break first." 

"You're awfully confident your plan-" 

"Our plan." 

"Our plan is going to work," Gerard says. 

"It will," Frank says. "Because it is us, and because it is him. Besides, if you allow yourself alternatives you're giving yourself permission to fail." 

Gerard grins. "Very true. So you fenced and went on rides and read while I was away. Anything else?" 

"I started writing. It is nothing especially worthy, but Grant gave me a blank book and encouraged me and if nothing else, it helped me clear my mind and get my thoughts in order," Frank says. 

"I'd like to read it, if you'll let me," Gerard says. Frank nods. 

"Of course you can. 'Tis nothing good or polished. But it is me." 

"Well, I do happen to love you," Gerard says, tugging him close and nipping at his neck. Frank moans over a laugh. Gerard hums against his throat and sucks on a spot that makes Frank gasp. "I've been wanting to do that for twenty minutes," Gerard murmurs in his ear. "He wasn't very careful, was he?" 

"How many can you see?" Frank asks in a low voice. 

"Three," Gerard murmurs against his neck. 

"There are...I lost count this morning when I was dressing." Gerard moans. "Yes, I know how you feel about that," Frank says. "We weren't exactly expecting to do any entertaining." 

"Apart from one another, I imagine," Gerard answers. He's seeking the marks with his fingers now, pressing down lightly. It makes Frank suck in a breath every time. His fingers move down, spread over Frank's chest. 

"If we are to continue, perhaps we should find a bedroom?" Frank murmurs. 

"Are we waiting as well?" Gerard whispers against his neck. "Or would that be unfair?" 

"There were days I couldn't imagine waiting a moment longer. But...perhaps we ought to start again as we mean to continue? With no one missing." 

Gerard pulls back and rests his forehead against Frank's. "You're right. I waited months to see you again. I can wait longer if it means I get both of you. But please don't tell me I cannot kiss you. It was the only thought that could cheer me at some moments." 

Frank presses his lips against Gerard's. "I couldn't stop myself if I tried. If you recall, I started kissing you very shortly after we met. And I intend to kiss Grant too. You should as well. He needs to know." 

"If I chance upon the right moment," Gerard murmurs. Then he leans in again, hands in Frank's hair and tongue doing clever things until Frank loses all track of time. 

Frank finally pulls back, both of them breathing hard. "I know you must be exhausted from the journey. Would you like to... I don't want to... " 

"I should go wash and change for supper. But I don't want to leave you, either," Gerard whispers. 

"I cannot come with you," Frank tells him. "I do not trust myself against that level of temptation." He's already aching. 

"Nor do I trust myself. We shall meet again for supper. Go find Grant. Start our campaign," Gerard tells him. 

"Have you mussed me terribly?" Frank asks. 

"Just enough, I think," Gerard says, eyeing him up and down in a leisurely sweep. Frank laughs and leans in for one last quick kiss before standing and forcing himself to leave the nook. He hears Gerard follow him. "Supper," Gerard says. 

Frank looks over his shoulder and smiles. "Supper. I love you." 

"I love you too," Gerard replies. It is as sweet a sound as he's ever heard. 

Frank grins all the way back to the study. He slips inside quietly and watches Grant scribble away in his notebook. 

"I know you are there, Frank," Grant says after a spell. 

"I wasn't trying to hide. Just enjoying watching you," Frank replies. 

"If it pleases you," Grant murmurs. 

"It does." He steps close and wraps his arms around Grant's shoulders from behind and kisses his cheek. "This pleases me more." 

"Frank," Grant warns. 

"No," Frank says, leaning farther and catching the corner of Grant's mouth instead. "I will not stop without an explicit order." Grant sighs heavily. "You didn't give us any rules, Grant. You didn't say we couldn't try to convince outside of the bedchamber." 

"Us, we... You've mended matters with Gerard, then." 

"They were never broken," Frank says softly. "Things are well on their way to being just as they should be." 

"Arrogant," Grant comments. 

"This is not a battle, love," Frank replies. "And if it is, I intend to win. You are ours and we are yours. Why don't you trust us? Or is it that you don't trust yourself?" Grant merely sighs and does not answer the question, but he leans into Frank. "I know you don't have that low of an opinion of yourself, Grant. Why wouldn't you trust yourself?" Frank presses. "You've been nothing but constant. If you will not answer me, I will assume 'tis some lack in us."

"It is not that I don't trust myself to be constant. It is that if I am allowed to have the both of you, it would break me utterly to lose you. And so, I want you to be sure. To know you are still of the same mind, not in the heat of passion and emotion, but in the cold light of day," Grant murmurs.

"That is a very pragmatic statement for a poet to make," Frank tells him. His eyes travel to the window of the study, which is indeed emitting weak daylight, and back to Grant. "I still want you both," he says. "Are you keeping a tally?"

Grant sighs again. "Frank, I lost Gerard long ago, I hardly had a chance to have you. Do you really blame me for wanting there to be no doubt left? I have spent my life losing the people I love most. I am tired of being accustomed to it."

"I lost my father," Frank reminds him. "And nearly lost my mother to that cad she married. I lost Mikey when you withdrew him from my school. I lost my memories when I tried to find him again. I found Gerard. I found you. I had you when I had nothing else. I will fight with tooth and claw to keep you. Is that enough reassurance for you?"

Grant turns his head and kisses Frank fiercely. When he pulls back he takes Frank's hand in his. "From you, it is enough. But please give it a little time, Frank. Gerard has been away for months, he's surely tired from his journey, and he came home to a shock and could quite rightly hate me for it."

The crux of the matter is, he is not wrong. Frank thinks he knows Gerard's mind, but most of his impatience dissolves in that moment. He can trust Gerard and Grant to find the common ground they need. He does, selfishly, hope they do it quickly.

"As you wish, m'lord," Frank whispers in his ear and squeezes his hand. 

"Thank you, Frank," Grant replies.

*

Frank and Grant separate to do their own washing and changing for supper. Frank arrives in the dining room just ahead of Mikey and Alicia and pauses a moment before standing behind his old seat at the table. It makes him smile to do so. 

Mikey smiles at Frank. The earlier traces of irritation are largely gone, and Frank assumes he's found time to speak to Gerard and be reassured. Alicia smiles as well and whispers something in Mikey's ear that makes him laugh.

Gerard arrives a moment later, hair wild as ever despite clearly getting a washing. He beams at Frank and then Mikey and Alicia. As usual, Grant turns up last and they all sit. He hears Gerard take a deep breath beside him. "It is so good to be home."

"The house was too big without you," Grant says quietly.

Gerard smiles at him. "I'm here now." 

"Speaking of here, Mikey, Alicia, you are, of course, more than welcome to stay here for as long as you like. Should you wish to have your own home, I would be happy to do anything you need to facilitate you getting one." Grant signals for the food to be served.

"I was thinking of rebuilding the family home for them," Gerard says. "The land is not overly far from here, after all." 

"The borders march along one another for a half-mile at least," Mikey tells Alicia. "The old manor house was quite beautiful."

"Until the fire," Gerard murmurs. The fire that killed their parents while they were away at school, Gerard doesn't say. Frank assumes Alicia must already know. "The foundations are still there, at least. You and Alicia would have free rein on the design, of course, since it would be your home," Gerard tells them. "Officially I suppose it would be mine. But only officially. I don't intend to live there." Grant's eyes are fixed on Gerard, and though Gerard is intent on Mikey and Alicia, Frank suspects Gerard knows exactly where Grant's attention is directed. 

Frank lifts his serviette to dab at his mouth, smiling a bit behind the cloth. _Is that enough of a declaration, Grant?_ Frank thinks, even though he knows it is probably not.

Alicia laughs. "When I agreed to marry Mikey, it never occurred to me that I'd be living in a manor house. We only had two servants at home. It will be quite strange to have a whole staff." She turns to Grant. "You've known me five minutes and yet you are so kind. Thank you." 

"Gerard and Mikey are family," Grant replies. "Therefore I will beg your indulgence and ask you to tell us - Frank and myself, that is - the story of your courtship."

They launch into the story, laughing and trading lines and talking over each other at times until it all comes out. How they met at the opera, how they had shared a jest over the terrible performances and how it developed from there. 

It really is a wonderful story and Frank wishes he had been there to see it happen. Gerard is clearly very pleased with the match and his brother's intense happiness. He's somewhat astounded, and grateful, that Mikey has found a lady who does not blink at the...inclinations of the rest of their household. Perhaps he will ask when they have a moment alone. For now, he'll just be grateful. 

After they finish the last course, they return to the study. It is almost like old times. Frank cannot help sitting close to Gerard, there's laughter and there are stories and Frank feels more content than he has since Gerard got the first letter from his uncle. 

Stewart comes to remove the drinks tray and gives Gerard a funny little nod. Gerard jumps to his feet. "Just a moment," he says and hurries out of the room. Alicia and Mikey don't blink, but Grant looks perplexed. 

Stewart returns with a basket that Gerard promptly sets in Frank's lap. The blanket covering the basket moves before Frank touches it. He snatches it off fast to reveal a tiny puppy peering up at him. It immediately yips and crawls out and into Gerard's lap. "Oh," Frank breathes. "So tiny, so -" 

Gerard has already picked the puppy up and nuzzles it briefly before handing it to Frank. "One of the neighbor's dogs had a litter. They were weaned just before we sailed, but she took some extra hand feeding on board ship and is...rather attached to me, I'm afraid. But she's yours." 

Frank slides his fingers over her fur and stares at her for a moment before pulling her close and kissing her head. "She's wonderful," he murmurs. She whines and yips again and Frank hands her back to Gerard with a laugh. "We can share her." 

"She'll love you more than me in no time at all," Gerard jokes. 

"What sort of dog is she?" Frank asks. 

"Some kind of bulldog and terrier mix. I suspect she shall be quite stubborn. Reminds me of you." 

Frank laughs again and kisses his cheek. He curls against Gerard's side and wiggles his fingers in front of the puppy. "Does she have a name?" he asks. Gerard laughs. 

"I've just been calling her Tiny." 

Frank grins. "Utilitarian, but cute. Shall we come up with another name, or keep that?" 

"It is up to you, Frankie," Gerard says. "Unless you want to ask Grant." 

Frank looks over to Grant to see him smiling at them both. "Come meet our new puppy, Grant," Frank says. 

"I distinctly remember Gerard saying she was yours," Grant replies, but he gets up from his chair and sits on Frank's other side. 

"Ours," Frank insists. 

"Ours until it is time for her to retire," Grant says resolutely. "I am too old for midnight walks." 

Frank laughs and leans in to kiss him. "Liar. We shall just see. I imagine she'll probably sleep with Gerard tonight. He's familiar and neither of us are." 

"She likes her basket well enough," Gerard says. "But never fear, I will take her in with me if you wish it." 

Frank looks back down at his lap. Tiny is curled in a ball, snoring lightly. "It would probably best for her to be with someone familiar until she gets to know us," Frank says. He thinks he'd rather enjoy cuddling her for the night, but he'd rather wait until he and Gerard can share a bed before making the attempt. 

"We're going to retire," Mikey says. Frank looks up and notices he and Alicia have quietly moved toward the door. Alicia has his hand in hers and is smiling softly at him. "Grant, Frank, 'tis very good to be reunited." 

"Yes, it has been lovely to finally meet you both," Alicia adds. 

Everyone says goodnight and they disappear toward their chambers. "On that note, perhaps I shall go up to sleep as well," Gerard says. "We traveled hard and I am weary." 

"Very well," Frank says, leaning over to kiss him softly and placing the puppy back in her basket. "Sleep well, I will see you in the morning." 

Grant watches the Ways retire, then looks down at Frank, still tucked against his side. "You do not go as well, love?" 

"I did not have a long journey today and as we will not be sharing a room, I will not disturb Gerard's sleep by staying here with you," Frank says quietly. 

"You will not be sharing a -" Grant cuts himself off, frowning slightly. 

"We will not take one another to bed until...." Frank stops. 

"Until?" Grant asks. 

"Until you're with us," Frank says softly. 

"You really did have quite the conversation with Gerard," Grant murmurs. 

"And soon enough you will as well," Frank replies confidently. Grant smiles and shakes his head. 

"You never cease to amaze me, did you know?" 

"That is only as it should be," Frank tells him, crawling into Grant's lap and cupping Grant's cheeks with his hands. 

"Frank," Grant murmurs. 

"Will you let me kiss you as I did him?" Frank whispers against Grant's lips. 

"How can I say no to you, love? How can I ever?" 

"I will remember this and remind you at an opportune moment," Frank says with a tease in his voice. Grant thrusts a hand through Frank's hair and kisses him hard. They kiss for a long time, mouths and tongues moving against each other slow and intense. Frank finally pulls back to breathe. "I got rather used to falling asleep in your arms. I shall miss it," he says. 

He thinks for a moment that Grant's resolve has wavered already, that Grant will ask him to bed. Not that Frank would say yes. He's committed to the plan. But Grant does not ask, just murmurs, "Sleep will not come nearly as easily tonight without you." 

"You might imagine I'm touching you," Frank whispers in his ear. 

"I will do so," Grant whispers back. Frank can feel how hard he is and rubs against him once before he forces himself to stand. 

"Sleep well, milord," Frank says. Grant laughs. 

"And you, my love." 

Frank slips out the door and takes the stairs to his bedchamber two at a time. When he gets his clothes off, he wraps a hand around his cock and strokes. "Gee," he groans, crawling between his sheets and rubbing his cheek against a pillowcase. "Grant. Touch me." Just the thought of them is enough and he finds release after a few more strokes. It is enough to bring real weariness, and only enough energy to clean himself perfunctorily before he sleeps. 

He wakes the following morning and abruptly remembers that Gerard is _home_. The thought gets him out of bed and dressed quickly, despite knowing Gerard and knowing he might not emerge for who knows how long. 

However, upon asking Stewart if any of the household have risen, Frank finds Gerard is already sitting in Grant's study, playing with Tiny. Not even Grant is there yet. Frank crosses to Gerard and favors him with a long, slow kiss before taking the puppy into his arms. 

"Good morning to you too," Gerard says, grinning at him. 

"I have a puppy and you. Of course it is good," Frank replies. "I'm just surprised you're not in the breakfast room yet." 

"Stewart is bringing me coffee," Gerard admits. "I wanted...I have a gift for Grant that we did not have time for last night." 

"Puppies are distracting," Frank agrees. "Am I - shall I stay or go?"

"Stay," Gerard murmurs and squeezes Frank's knee. They both play with Tiny, letting her chase their fingers and scratching her belly. They're momentarily distracted when the maid brings in coffee, but once they have their cups fixed, they return their attention to the puppy. Neither of them notice right away when Grant comes in the room. 

"Stewart told me you were waiting in here for me," Grant says. "Good morning, and a lovely sight you are." Frank looks up, wincing a moment later when Tiny takes advantage of his distraction to sink her tiny teeth into his thumb. 

"Bad girl," Gerard tells her, detaching her and handing her back to Frank, then scrambling to his feet. "I brought you something as well, Grant. I didn't want you to think I'd forgotten."

Frank cuddles Tiny close and watches them. Gerard produces a book from the corner of the settee and passes it to Grant. "I met a poet while I was in America. He's a singular man. I think you'd like him. I know you'll like his poetry." He hands the book to Grant and Grant takes it carefully. "I marked a poem for you to read. It is called 'Song of Myself.' I… read. You'll understand." 

Grant reads. It must be a passing long poem because he reads for a long time, and Frank watches the expressions flit across his face, even as he knows Gerard is watching the same from his perch on the corner of Grant's desk. Tiny huffs quietly at their inattention and curls up on Frank's thigh.

Grant finally looks up. "Gerard," he murmurs. Gerard starts babbling. 

"It's inscribed. Not that… perhaps he will one day be famous. As of now, he's rather controversial in America. I hope he gets the fame he deserves. I couldn't have-" 

And then Grant stands and stops Gerard's mouth with his own. Gerard whimpers. Frank nearly echoes him, but his breath has caught in a throat too tight to make a sound. He watches. He _stares._ They make a tableau long imagined, and Frank can only assume it is so for them as well. But Grant pulls back, too soon, eyes searching Gerard's face.

"Why did you stop?" Gerard asks breathlessly. 

Grant carefully sets the book down and takes Gerard's hands in his. "It is a wonderful gift and I shall treasure it. And if the rest of that book is at all like the poem you marked for me, then I am very eager to continue reading. As to why I stopped… were I to continue in that moment, I fear I would never stop and we'd never leave this room." 

"How could that at all dissuade me?" Gerard asks quietly, lifting Grant's hands to his lips.

Frank only just refrains from squeezing Tiny too tight and leans down to kiss her head. Grant is smiling softly at Gerard. He flicks his eyes over to Frank and then back. "Between the two of you, my resolve will not even last a whole day." 

"We have all the time in the world for you," Gerard says. "And you may take it, or not, as you wish."

Grant sucks in a breath and leans forward to kiss Gerard again. They kiss longer this time, but Grant does not let go of Gerard's hands, does not move to take him in his arms. He pulls back again. "Breakfast. And we promised Alicia a tour of the estate. Later. Later, I promise," Grant murmurs. 

Frank stands up and moves toward, Tiny carefully cradled in his arm, touching Grant's elbow with his other hand. "Yes, that was a promise to you as well," Grant tells him.

"Good. I love you both. Let's go to breakfast. We don't want to keep Mikey and Alicia waiting," he says. 

*

The weather is relatively fine, so they take an open carriage out before luncheon. They must stay on the carriage paths and are reduced to pointing out certain points of interest which are only accessible by foot or horseback. Alicia enthuses over the landscape and talks excitedly about further exploration. Frank offers to take her out, knowing Mikey is only passing fond of riding. Grant and Gerard sit together, murmuring about their writings as was always their wont. Though he notices that Gerard has his hand tucked in Grant's, which makes him smile out over the gardens. 

It is time for luncheon by the time they return to the house, and then the afternoon is spent in Grant's study. Until Gerard reminds them, "You promised me a fencing demonstration." 

Mikey and Alicia have already removed themselves to the music room to unpack the sheet music Mikey had brought back from America - which may well be an excuse for something else, and Frank resolves not to go near the music room for a few hours. "We did," he agrees. "Grant, a bit of exercise?"

"I would be delighted. We haven't had the pleasure since we left for London," Grant says. 

"You went to London?" Gerard asks as they move toward the east wing. 

"It was to distract me from how heartbroken I was over your letter," Frank replies softly, taking Gerard's hand. 

"You were...Frankie," Gerard hesitates. 

"It was the last straw," Frank confesses. "If only Mikey's letter had not gone astray...." 

"If only I'd been more forthcoming," Gerard interrupts. 

"We would not have gone to London, and Frank would not have made the round of my clubs with me," Grant puts in, holding the door for them. 

"Is that what happened?" Gerard asks. Grant motions him toward a chair by the wall and crosses to the cabinet that holds the foils.

"He was _flirting_ with a man. And I-" 

"He objected. Strenuously. And insisted he be the one I took home," Grant says with a fond look. 

"So it is for the best," Frank says. "If Mikey’s letter had come, things would not be this way." 

Frank straps on his protective gear and takes the foil Grant hands him. They take their places. "You think it is for the best?" Grant questions as they begin. "Seeing you in such pain -" 

"You cannot protect me from all pain," Frank ripostes. "And your feelings - your happiness is every bit as important as ours. To us."

"He's entirely correct. I wouldn't… now that I know, I don't think I'd change a single thing, not even the homecoming," Gerard says from his chair. "Now fence. I want to see." 

They start the match in earnest, both giving their best. Their lack of practice shows a little, but it is enjoyable and Frank comes very close to besting Grant. Eventually it becomes apparent that Grant has the upper hand, and Frank resorts to theatricality, knowing it will make Gerard laugh. It makes Grant laugh too, and as soon as he delivers the final touch to take the match, he tosses his foil aside and pulls Frank close.

Frank lets his own foil drop and and wraps himself around Grant. "How many times did you want to do this?" Frank asks. 

"Every time," Grant replies and leans down to kiss him. 

"Bravo," Gerard drawls from his seat, adding some lazy applause. "Quite a show. Especially the encore." Grant chuckles against Frank's lips and Frank pulls away, stalks across the room to climb into Gerard's lap and shut him up in the most efficient manner. Frank has long suspected that Gerard sometimes keeps talking just to make Frank do that very thing. Frank cannot say that he minds overmuch.

After a few moments, Frank feels fingers on the straps and buckles of his protective vest. Grant has stepped up behind him and efficiently divests him of the heavy gear. "You can keep going if you wish," he murmurs.

"I do wish, but I don't believe I'd fit with both of you on that chair and I would certainly like to join you," Grant says with a laugh and strokes a hand through Frank's hair. 

"Then we should change venues," Gerard says. 

"It will be supper time before too terribly long," Grant says. "I think we can wait until after that, don't you?" 

"Now you're just being a tease, Grant," Frank says.

"And it is so terribly enjoyable," Grant tells him, leaning down to kiss his neck just under his ear. Gerard, watching, makes a noise, and Frank remembers that he has quite the bruise in that spot already, started by Grant's mouth and helped along by Gerard's.

"Not fair," Gerard murmurs, wrapping his hand around Grant's wrist. 

"I shall make it up to you," Grant promises. "When I can do it at my leisure. Come, let us finish the day so that we may start on the night." 

*

As it transpires, Mikey and Alicia actually were sorting sheet music - at least for part of the afternoon - and they, along with Gerard, treat Frank and Grant to a concert in miniature that evening, playing some of the popular American music they've brought back with them. It is pleasant, but not quite enough distraction to keep Frank from shooting Grant and Gerard frequent assessing looks.

He catches both of them looking at him as well, which only serves to increase his anticipation. And then it is time for supper and Frank keeps getting distracted by their hands as they reach for various dishes and cut their food. He's not sure how he's going to survive the usual after-supper congregating in the study. 

He trails behind the rest of them, lost in thought, and when Grant doubles back and steps into his path, he's momentarily startled. Grant backs him into an alcove near the library, sending a hand curling around the back of Frank's neck. "Stay with us," Grant urges him softly, touching their mouths together. "Not long now."

Frank smiles against his lips. "No. Not long at all. We convinced you."

"It was Gerard who concerned me most," Grant confesses. "But he's grown so much in the last few months. I am quite desperately proud of him. And as you pointed out, I was acting as my own biggest obstacle."

"I love you," Frank whispers. "Let's go have some whiskey by the fire." Grant nods and takes his hand as they walk the remainder of the way. Tiny jumps happily around by their feet when they enter the study and Frank scoops her up into his arms. 

It is a quiet evening, other than the giggles of whoever is playing with the puppy. But anticipation is thick in the air. Mikey and Alicia are too polite to mention it. The rest of them are too polite to abuse their good nature too much, and they take their leave early. It is, in fact, Grant who excuses himself first. Frank looks up at him and he reaches out to cup Frank's cheek. 

"Come up when you're ready," Grant murmurs to him and Gerard and then slips out the door. 

When they're ready was about forty hours ago, Frank thinks. He looks at Gerard and lifts a brow. Gerard leans over and murmurs something into Mikey's ear. Mikey nods and cuddles Tiny and Gerard inclines his head at the door. 

Yes, they're ready.

Frank stands and pulls Gerard up with him. They hold hands all the way up to Grant's room. Frank realizes that he's only been here once. It feels like so much more than that already, but still not nearly enough. 

Gerard stops him outside the door, kisses him lingeringly and whispers, "Before we go in... you're always better, _more_ , than even I can imagine. I never wanted Grant over you. You have never been, nor will ever be, less to me than him." 

"I know, Gerard," Frank replies softly and kisses him again. "I do not feel like Grant's second choice either. I feel doubly cherished. Now. May we -" he mimes knocking at the door. Gerard does it himself. 

Grant opens the door almost immediately and ushers them inside and leads them through his sitting room to the bedchamber. When he turns back to them, he smiles so beautifully, Frank's breath catches in his throat. His step falters as well. Frank is made to leap, and this slow and relentless progression is beyond him. He has Gerard who he hasn't touched in months by his side and Grant whose touch is still new in front of him and he does not know which direction to go. 

"Help me," he blurts. Neither of them laugh, but he feels Gerard press up against his back while Grant steps in front of him and he's overwhelmed in a different way. Frank slides his hands around Grant's waist and clings. "I was so focused on both of us getting in this room, I didn't think about what would happen once we did," he murmurs against Grant's chest. 

"Pleasure. Love. Perhaps some sleep," Grant teases gently, fingers working Frank's buttons. 

"Yes. Kiss me. Kiss each other," Frank demands. Gerard laughs in his ear and slides around Frank to press against his side, against Grant's side. His hands are teasing and tweaking, caressing where once they were desperate. 

Their clothing succumbs piece by piece, Grant's touch by turns worshipful and demanding. Frank feels he's merely demanding. He wants more and more and still more. "On the bed, both of you," Grant orders when they're naked. 

Gerard gets on the bed first and Frank curls up against him. "He's going to want to stand there and look at us." 

"As you wish, Grant," Gerard murmurs with a heavy-lidded look. "I'll look too. Or perhaps kiss you, Frank." Grant moans and Gerard smirks at Frank. "I think he likes that idea. Shall I kiss you?" 

Frank just grasps a double handful of Gerard's hair and tugs him down. God be good, his mouth is perfect. He missed having Gerard's skin against his so much, it is verily a relief to be kissing him now. Knowing Grant is watching just makes it better. And then Frank feels Grant's weight shift the bed as he climbs on it. Gerard gasps. Frank peeks. 

Grant is nude as well, kneeling and trailing his hands all over Gerard - shoulders, back, chest, belly, thighs. Frank suddenly knows what he wants. He reaches out and places a hand on Grant's waist. "I want him to take me. And then I want to watch you take him." 

"Very well," Grant says in a voice that is less than steady. He leans down, presses Gerard into the mattress and kisses him for a long time before pulling back. Gerard looks dazed and breathless. 

"Grant," he whispers. 

"You are unimaginably beautiful," Grant tells him. "Shall we do as Frank commands?" 

"Yes," Gerard breathes. Frank swings his leg over Gerard and moves to straddle his thighs. "Would you like us like this, Frankie?" Gerard asks, hands coming to rest on his hips. 

"Yes, Gee, please." Grant can touch him, this way. 

"Will you get yourself ready? Or shall Grant?" Gerard asks. 

"Grant," Frank says immediately. 

"Grant will indeed," Grant echoes. "Oh yes, it will be my pleasure." He shifts closer. Frank spreads his hands over Gerard's belly, slides them up his chest, and kisses him. He knows he's displayed himself for Grant and momentarily thinks perhaps Grant should take him like this, with him kissing Gerard, but no. He wants to watch Gerard's face as Grant slides inside him. Some other time. There will be so many. Frank is merely greedy. 

He feels Grant's fingers slip between his thighs, slick with oil. He moans into Gerard's mouth as Grant circles his entrance with his fingers, then slowly pushes one inside. "Does he know how much you need this, Frankie? How much you crave it?" Gerard asks, hands rubbing up and down Frank's back. 

"Yes," Frank moans. "Yes, he knows." Gerard certainly knows how shameless he is. 

"He's beautiful like this," Grant says. "So wanton and needy." 

"He is always beautiful," Gerard answers. "But even more so when he -" 

"Gee," Frank moans. Gerard has closed a hand around him, stroking lightly. Frank bucks back into Grant's fingers instead. Grant adds a third finger. 

"Always beautiful," Grant murmurs. "Always. Both of you." Frank feels him lean forward, mouthing across the back of Frank's shoulders. "I know you're more than ready, love," he murmurs. 

"I was enjoying your fingers," Frank gasps out. 

"It is time to enjoy Gerard's cock," Grant says and lifts his hips up. When Gerard gasps, Frank knows Grant has taken him in hand. "Take him in," Grant says and Frank sinks down. 

"Gee," he breathes. Gerard feels perfect: well-remembered and new at the same time. His hands close around Frank's hips. Grant's fingers tangle with his from behind Frank. He's overwhelmed again. There's so much to feel, his own body, so much coming from the two of them. 

Both of them urge him on as he rolls his hips, and when he cannot stand it anymore, he leans down to kiss Gerard, crying out when Grant takes the opportunity to touch his tongue to Frank's stretched skin. Frank can hardly breathe, he's feeling so much, and then Gerard wraps a hand around him and strokes in time with his thrusts. Frank shouts and streaks their bellies and chests with his release. Grant does not stop moving his tongue, though, just keeps going as Gerard keeps thrusting. 

"Gerard," Frank groans against his neck, "Don't you want to come with Grant inside you?" 

Gerard moans, but his hips stutter to a stop. "Yes. I...yes," he gasps. Grant hums against him and slides his lips up Frank's back to his ear. 

"Lift off, love. I'll need you to kiss him when I cannot." 

Frank whimpers but complies, and Grant cups his cheek and kisses him tenderly. Frank crawls up the bed and curls around Gerard. He kisses Gerard briefly and then pulls back so they can both watch Grant. 

"Do you want my fingers, Gerard?" Grant asks. 

"Don't need them," he groans. "But I do want them." 

"Then you shall have them," Grant promises; then Gerard arches his back and moans Grant's name. "More beautiful than I ever even imagined," Grant says softly. Frank kisses Gerard's temple. 

"Tell him," he whispers. "Tell him how you yearned for him. For what you're getting now." 

"So much," Gerard gasps. "I thought it would fade, that perhaps it was a schoolboy crush. But it never did. Not even when I had you and you gave me everything." He gasps again. 

Grant shifts. "I must have you now, dear heart." 

"Please," Gerard moans. "Oh, please." Grant lines up and pushes in. He drops a kiss on Frank's hand where it rests on Gerard's chest before pressing his lips to Gerard's, swallowing his moans. 

They move together, Gerard's legs locked around Grant's waist, his hands gripping hard to Grant's shoulders. Frank strokes Gerard's chest, his face, his hair. He wants to wrap a hand around Gerard as well, but he and Grant are pressed too close. From the sound of the moans escaping between kisses, Gerard may not even need it.

He runs a hand up Grant's neck to cup the back of his head. Grant turns and kisses Frank slow and thorough while Gerard gasps and moans and says their names. When Grant pulls back and looks at Gerard, he cups his cheek. "You are so beautiful." 

"More so every day," Frank says into his ear, "And I know you know it, Gee. Let us hear you."

"Grant," Gerard moans, "You feel so… so good. I… Frank, your mouth." 

"If I kiss you, we cannot hear you," Frank murmurs.

"Anywhere. I do not care. Just kiss me," Gerard gasps out. " _Grant_ ," he moans when Grant gives him a long, slow thrust. 

Frank laughs and pushes Gerard's hair aside, sucking and biting his own mark into the side of Gerard's neck. He can feel Grant's thrusts through the movement of Gerard's body, increasing in speed as Grant nears his own peak. Gerard is breathing hard now. He is only able to get out the odd word, which Frank knows means he is close. Frank runs his tongue over the mark he made and Gerard moans and arches up against Grant.

"Yes," he moans. "I -" He gasps raggedly and shakes and Frank knows he has found his release at last, the grip of his body driving Grant on until he is cursing and spilling himself inside Gerard. 

Grant buries his face in Gerard's neck. Frank smooths his hand up and down Grant's back, kisses Gerard's shoulder, and waits for them to catch their breath.

"Love you more than my fortune, dear heart," Grant whispers brokenly. "More than my reputation, than my life itself. I would give it all. Twice over," he adds, fingers finding Frank's shoulder. And suddenly, Frank is the one who has no words, who can only breathe. He covers Grant's hand with his and leans closer to both of them. He cannot get close enough, but he can turn his head and kiss Gerard, lean down and kiss the top of Grant's head. So he does.

"I…" Gerard whispers. "I have everything I've ever wanted." He sounds as if he's trying to hold back a great sea of emotion. As it is Gerard, Frank has no doubt that he is. 

"As do I," Frank answers, curling closer. 

Grant shifts and pulls out and curls around Gerard's other side, tugging the coverlet over them all. He laces his fingers with Frank's over Gerard's chest and Frank smiles against Gerard's shoulder. Yes, he is content. His future stretches out before him, and he will have these two men by his side for each experience.

* 

**Epilogue**

Tiny is standing on Frank's leg with her paws up on the side of the carriage, looking out as they ride toward the finally complete Way manor house. 

The year and a half that has passed since Gerard and Mikey returned from America has been a busy one. Frank has never seen so many books on architecture in his entire life. When Gerard takes on a project, he dives in head first. However, they can now count their architect, Vincent, as both dear friend - he has known Grant since school days, after all - and neighbor. He moved into a nearby manor after taking on the commission and stayed. 

Mikey and Alicia have been living there for some weeks. They all go back and forth between the two houses so often, it's almost as if they are still living under the same roof. Tonight is the first time they are opening the house to others. Mikey and Alicia are hosting a ball. Well, ostensibly Gerard is hosting a ball, as his name was on the invitations. It is absolutely Mikey and Alicia's party, though. Gerard did not interfere with a single detail. Much.

Gerard is not really trying to pretend he's going to be living there himself. If anyone asks, he usually says something well-practiced about being comfortable in Grant's bachelor abode, and letting Mikey and Alicia enjoy their privacy. Frank mainly delights in interrupting the peace by loosing Tiny on the canine inhabitants of Way Manor. Mikey and Alicia are accustomed to Frank after living with him for a year and a half, though. So usually they just laugh and roll their eyes. Today Alicia gives a little shriek - she is already gowned for tonight. Frank whistles sharply and the little terrier stops and sits. Grant chuckles from beside him. 

"Wise decision, my love," he murmurs. Tiny trots off in search of the kitchen and Mikey and Alicia's dogs and Frank and Grant exchange embraces with the younger Ways once Gerard finishes. 

"Your first party," Frank says when he pulls back from Alicia. "Are you ready?" 

"No," she whispers. "I'm terrified. Why did I think I could join high society? Scottish high society, even! I'm such a fool." 

"You look beautiful, and the manor looks beautiful, and everyone you invited is a neighbor or a dear friend of Gerard and Mikey's, or Grant's. It will be lovely," Frank assures her. She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders and looks every bit the lady she will one day be. "There is the Alicia, I know," Frank says with a smile. 

"Here is the Frank I know," Gerard says, coming up behind him and wrapping arms around his waist. "Will you dance with me now, since we cannot later?" 

"You will get your dance much later," Frank murmurs, turning in his arms and nuzzling his neck. 

"And if I want one now as well as later?" Gerard asks against his cheek. 

"I suppose I'll allow it. You might have to share, though," he says. 

"I am quite skilled at sharing," Gerard tells him. Frank hears a snort; Alicia has drifted off to consult with their butler, but Grant is watching Frank and Gerard with an amused expression. 

"Why are you so far?" Frank asks him. 

His smile widens and he takes several steps toward them. "I was enjoying watching you." 

"Watching us dance for your amusement?" Gerard teases. 

"I watch that every night, dear heart," Grant says with a little smirk. "I have not yet tired of watching, though." He steps into the circle of their outstretched arms. "And I never will." 

"See that you do not," Frank instructs imperiously. Grant takes his chin in hand and kisses him soundly, then kisses Gerard as well. 

"I promised Mikey I would look over his toast," he murmurs. "I'll rejoin you in a few minutes." 

Frank doesn't let him step away until he's straightened Grant's cravat and smoothed his lapels. "There, Lord Morrison." 

He leans in and kisses Frank again, then follows Mikey into his study. 

"They'll be arriving soon," Frank says 

"I wish we had time to dance as you have so brazenly promised," Gerard says, nipping at Frank's ear. "I know every secret hiding place in this manor, after all." 

Frank laughs. "Perhaps we may find one if the party gets particularly dull." 

"It is my party," Gerard says, all dancing-eyed affront. "It would never." 

"It is Alicia's party and all balls get dull around the middle," Frank replies and pulls out of Gerard's arms. "I let you muss me. And yourself." 

"Fix me?" Gerard asks prettily. "Mustn't do to appear in public all mussed." 

Frank rolls his eyes and repeats the actions he took with Grant a minute ago. Gerard returns the favor and smiles. "I love you." 

"I love you too, Gee," Frank whispers. 

The door to the study opens and Frank looks over to see Grant and Mikey exit. Mikey looks much less pinched than he did when they arrived, so Grant has clearly worked his magic. 

Grant joins them, nuzzling under Gerard's ear and tangling his fingers with Frank's. "The carriages will arrive any minute, dear ones," he says. 

None of them of them elect to move. They can stay together at least until the first guests are announced. They will move apart for as long as they have to, but Frank knows their connection is more solid than that. Constant. Unbreakable. A few hours apart is nothing compared to a lifetime together.


End file.
